Ribbons
by 44q
Summary: This is a Buffy and Angel story. AU, all human. ... There's a killer on the loose who's murdered five women so far and Angel isn't about to let him get victim number six. When Buffy Summers calls him to tell her suspicions of the killer peeping in her bedroom window, he is determined to keep her safe.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

The young woman's body rolled down the hill, landing with a thump. He stood there, staring down at where she had landed. The body was naked, the red ribbon that he had tied in her hair waved in the slight breeze, the eyes were open and filmed over with death, her mouth open with her final scream. Smiling at the memory, he began taking his photos, feeling anxious as she laid down there with all the others. He knew it wasn't going to be safe here forever. No one had found them so far, searches and posters had been done, but the bodies remained. It ddn't pay not to be careful, though.

Leaving her, as well as the others, he picked his way through the country road, dropped his camera in the trunk of his sedan. The car was unnoticable, just a car. Anyone who saw it here would just assume the drive had stopped off to go take a leak somewhere. Slipping into the driver's seat, his reflection caught his attention in the rear view mirror so he tipped it so he could see it better. Clean brown hair reflected back at him, it was parted to the side, not too long nor too short. His face was decently pleasant, nothing standing out though. He was medium height, same in weight. He was rather on the nerdy looking side of things if anything.

There was nothing that screamed "Hey there, I just killed my fifth girl, look at me!"

Smiling, the all around average man smiled back. There was nothing creepy, nothing unnerving, in that smile. Absolutely nothing that would stick out. With a sigh, he looked down, seeing his hands. He would have to say they were one of his better features, nice, capable of many things ... including strangling the life out of his victims.

Starting the car, he pulled out on to the road carefully. He wasn't wanting to leave any marks if possible, didn't need anyone stopping to check, maybe finding something in his trail that he might have missed. And he sure didn't want to lose this spot yet. It was better for the girl, not just him. They were together here, nicer that they would have one another out there in thee dark. Truthfully, there was also the fact he didn't want to have to search out another spot as well.

Singing along with the radio, his mind went to his next pick. She was one of the prettier pieces he would have to admit. She had long hair and some pretty, big brown eyes that he swore sparkled when she would laugh. She was toll and slim. And he could not wait to taste her.

He had kept something from each of the girls. From one, a watch ... It sat under his pillow at night now, ticking away the seconds. His second victim had given him an earring. It was in green jade, a very unusal stone, meant for luck. Obviously it hadn't worked out so well for her ... but for him it had, leading him to his next victim, who had been her roommate. Third on the list was known for her voice, a very beautiful and talent one at that. She had sung for him on their long nights together, he even had tapes of it. Besides those, she'd given a ring. It was silver and turquoise in color, having some Indian design to it. It had been a present from her mother she had told him, and she had begged him to let her keep it. Fourth on the list ... Oh, she had been a handful. She'd fought him tooth and nail for as long as she could, as much as she could. And she had been a virgin to boot. How many times was he to find a girl in this day and age at 23 and still a virgin? Oh, this one had been quite a pleasure to tame, but then she'd become boring after awhile. She'd just cry and cry, it was a real drag. From her, taken a lock of hair. It sat, braided neatly with tiny red ribbons that held the ends together. It sat curled in a small glass bowl at his bedroom window. And finally,the one who had come to him. From her he had taken a tiny gold cross, the chain all twisted and tangled in knots. He had other plans for the cross itself though.

Wiping the blood from the golden gross with the end of his thumb, he lifted it to his nose, breathing in the smell of metal, the coppery scent of blood and imagined that he could still smeller her sweet scent clinging to it.

* * *

His drive took longer than it usually would but he'd taken his time, stopping at a gas station at the other end of town to get his gas, using a card. He'd put $10 in earlier, using cash then, at a gas station he had never used before. He'd kept his head turned, was friendly but not overly so, and made sure the place was busy when he'd gone in. No one would remember him.

He stopped at his normal grocers and picked up a gallon of milk and some cat food. His tomcat would be hungry and complaining by the time he finally got home.

As he was walking out, a woman walked in, her eyes on the purse that she was searching through. She bumped into him, reaching out a hand to steady herself and him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, looking up into his eyes. "Are you okay?"

His heart beat erratically, his mind raced. She was beautiful, when she smiled, her full strawberry colored lips pulled away from brilliant white teeth. Her hand, when she touched him, was soft and gentle, a caring hand, a tender hand.

"I'm, uh, fine. Are you okay?" he managed to ask around the lump that was his heart.

"Yes," she laughed. "I can be such a klutz." She looked over her shoulder towards the store and smiled at him distractedly. "Well, you have a good night now. I'm sorry if I hurt you." She waved as she turned, her short skirt bouncing along with her hair as she jogged towards the shopping carts.

His eyes followed, his mouth moving over words he wished he had said, witty words that would have left an impression upon her. She was so incredibly beautiful, bouncy and bubbly. He watched until she disappeared, slender tan legs moving athletically under her skirt, full hips swaying gracefully. He waited for the lust, for the call for blood to come from inside, but it was strangely silent.

Instead, he turned, making his way almost blindly to his car. Dropping the bag into the passenger seat, he sat behind the steering wheel, his eyes moving over every figure as they left. When he finally saw her, she was carrying her groceries in one arm, a bag of chips opened at the top. She munched on one as she reached an ancient red Camaro that had seen better and happier days. Pulling open the door with a loud screech that he could hear on his side of the lot, she climbed in, flashing her thighs as her skirt rode up.

He felt an ache start in his groin, felt his cock twitch as he watched her pull the door closed. She started the car and he saw her pet the dash, an affectionate little gesture he could almost feel himself as it caused his cock to stir to life in his pants. The inside of his mouth was dry and he reached for the mints he kept in the car, popping one in his mouth before starting his own car. He needed to see where this beautiful angel lived.

All other thoughts fled but of her. He had to know her name, had to find out where she lived and who she lived with. She was going to be his. But he wouldn't kill her. No, she was special, she would be his forever.

Her car pulled from the lot and he followed, wondering if she knew just how special tonight was going to be to her.

Following the Camaro wasn't difficult even in the heavy Friday traffic. Her right taillight was out, making it easier for him to keep her in view. He followed her, hanging back a few cars, managing to just slip past the lights before they turned red. When she pulled off the street and into the driveway of a medium sized ranch house, he kept going, finding a halfway deserted alley to park his car in about a block down.

Locking it, he walked back the way he had come, just an average man out for a walk on the street in the soft evening air. A hedge next to her house became his cover and he slipped into the backyard, stopping every few feet to listen intently for annoying dogs or people that might spot him.

His breathing sounded loud in his ears, but he knew it wasn't. It was excitement, the beginning of the hunt that had his heart racing with joy, the air whistling into his lungs. A light came on, the square shining brightly into the dark backyard, almost seeming to reach out to him with its aura of life and warmth. He slid past the bushes, noiselessly brushing through branches and stepping over sticks until he could see inside the room.

* * *

Buffy Summers pulled her antique Camaro into the driveway of the house that she shared with two other girls. For once the house was dark, the driveway empty and she could pull close to the back door instead of parking near the road. Both of her roommates had gone out of town to visit their families, to reassure them that they were okay. With the strange disappearances of five girls in town, everyone was a little spooked. Even she was taking more precautions then before, making sure the house was locked at night, carrying the pepper spray she'd been given when she'd moved away from home four years before. Yes, it was past its expiration date but she didn't have the funds to replace it and she hoped that just the threat might discourage someone who tried to attack her.

Walking into the darkened house took a little courage on her part, but she unlocked the door and flipped on the switch, walking into the brightly lit kitchen while laughing at her fears. Setting her bag down, she unloaded the groceries she had bought, milk, cereal, chips and bread, putting it all away before checking for messages.

There's been noting from Riley. She gave a disgusted laugh. She didn't know why she even bothered looking and wait anymore. Riley wasn't going to call. She had given him the ultimatum and she had lost. He was going to stay with his wife.

Well, at least she'd found out now before she'd invested anymore time or emotions into her relationship with him.

She picked up her mail from off of the counter where she'd dropped it, weeding out the junk mail and tossing it in the trash. With a sigh, she threw the rest in her purse and headed down the hall that led to her bedroom. A bath and then bed was all she could think about. Even though it was Friday, she had no date to speak of. She had turned down everyone with hopes that Riley would call. Now she felt disgust at herself that she'd even hoped he would call.

Dropping her purse onto the chair, she closed her bedroom door. Flicking on the light switch, she went to the closet and got out her robe. She kicked off her shoes, dropping down on the bed to rub her aching arches. Sixty hours this week on her feet, waiting tables, bussing them when their bus boy fell behind, being a prep cook. She was tired and ready for her two days off.

Standing, she pulled the polo shirt off over her head, pulling her hair through the neck hole, and then letting it fall to the floor, stretching a little as she did. Buffy unhooked her bra, letting it drop forward and off her shoulders, dropping it on top of her shirt. She ran her hands over the slight marks on her shoulders, rubbing them gently. It felt so good, being touched and caressed, even if it was by her own fingers.

Standing, she let her hand slide over the tops of her breasts and around the firm globes, shivering as her fingers nudged taut nipples. She squeezed them gently, watching herself in the mirror over her dresser. Her head tipped to the side, her hair caressing her back as it swung with the movement. She sucked one long nailed finger into her mouth, wetting it with her tongue and then ran it around her nipple feeling her areola crinkle and tighten. Throbbing tugs of sensation pulsed through her body and she grew damp and swollen between her thighs.

"Mmmm," Buffy groaned, pulling gently on her nipple to keep those sensations growing. Her head fell back, her eyes half closed and she caught her bottom lip between white teeth. It'd been too long since the last time Riley had been able to get away, weeks since she'd felt a man's body against her own. And though a vibrator was a survival tool for a woman, hers had been getting much too much of a work out recently.

She unzipped her skirt, wiggling it over her full rounded bottom and let it drop at her feet. Clad only in a tiny red silk thong, she stared at herself in her mirror. Her hands slid down her stomach one slipping under silk and sleek lace to slide over finely textured curls and delve in the hot, wet slit between her thighs. Her eyes closed in pleasure, her fingers brushing delicately over the tight knot of her clit, rubbing gently, flicking and moving it until her hips jerked in reaction and she could feel the growing swell of pleasure that heralded release.

Buffy's knees felt weak, her heart rate sped until she could hear it beating in her ears like a roaring tidal wave. She pretended it was his heartbeat, her dream man's. He'd come up behind her, seeing her dressed in such a scanty and provocative manner. His arms would wrap around her from behind, his hand cupping one breast, the other tipping her face to his so that he could find her lips. His mouth would be hot, she thought. And wet, his tongue finding hers as he took what he wanted from her. His hands would demand her surrender, they would take without asking. And she'd willingly give. He'd mold her flesh, move her the way he wanted her. His mouth would give pleasure and demand that she do the same. She'd be helpless against his pull, lost to his desires. She could almost see him behind her in the mirror, his dark head bent over, watching his hands as he touched her, as he took her.

Her fingers quickened their own pace, dipping into the soft heat of her, thrusting into her cunt, feeling the wetness of excited flesh before circling round the sensitive bud of her clit. She was so close, her breath hissed out of her mouth, low moans mixing with impassioned pleas to her fantasy lover to fuck her, fuck her harder. In her mind she willed him to look up, to watch them in the mirror, to take her while he watched their flesh cleave and part. She wanted to see his eyes.

Eyes!

A startled shriek escaped her lips as she saw the reflection of eyes in her mirror, eyes that were in the shadowed face of the man who was looking into her window. She whirled, reaching down to pick up her shirt and hold it in front of her as her eyes met his for one long second.

Then he turned, and she heard the crashing of garbage cans as he ran. A car door slammed and she hurried out of the room, still clutching her shirt, trying to see if she could see a make of car or a license plate, anything. By the time she reached the window, he was gone.

She ran for the phone and called the police.

* * *

A half an hour later, Buffy told her story to a stone faced policeman. She wore a knee length, kimono styled heavy satin robe in brilliant jade green, holding the stiff collar closed with her fist at her throat as she gave the details to him once again.

"I was getting undressed. I was going to take a bath. I ... I saw eyes in the mirror and turned and he just kept staring at me. I think I screamed and he ran. I tried to get a look at his car but I wasn't quick enough." Buffy looked up at the cop, her face turning red as she skipped over a few tiny details.

Officer Gates looked at the beautiful girl, his eyes taking in the blush. He knew she was leaving something out and had a good idea what it was. A sadistic side of him was urging him to force the details out of her. He opened his mouth and his partner came in, carrying an evidence bag.

"We got footprints in the soil outside her window and I found this caught on some shrubs out there." He held up the bag which contained a small scrap of red ribbon. "Is this yours ma'am?" Officer Miller asked.

"No, I don't think it is." Buffy wrapped her arms tighter around her, more than a little freaked out. The man had been in her yard, watching her undress. Watching her ... masturbate. She felt invaded, almost raped, her privacy taken from her by one man.

"I also found a small. .. ah," Officer Miller hesitated as if searching for the right word, "biological sample."

Buffy closed her eyes, silently wishing she could ignore this nightmare. "You mean, he jerked off out there watching me, right?"

"Yes," he answered, his face was as red as hers. "We'll take a sample, see if his DNA's in our system. It'll take a while to do though, ma'am. I'm sorry to say, this technology isn't fast."

"So what the hell do I do in the mean time?"

"Keep your doors and windows locked, keep your blinds down, your drapes closed. If you have any more problems, call us and we'll get right out here. I'll see about having a cruiser come through your neighborhood for the next few days." Forrest Gates put his pen back in his pocket and stood. "Ma'am, most of the time, these perverts are just looking for a thrill. You scared him away, you saw him. He won't come back here. He'll be looking for easier pickings. If you follow what we said, you'll probably never see him again."

Buffy felt a chill shudder through her. Every cop drama, crime movie and detective show she'd ever seen came back to haunt her. "I do nothing, you do nothing, and ... What if he comes back?"

"Then you call us."

It all sounded so simple. But it had taken them fifteen minutes to get here the first time.

Buffy held back her sigh of disgust and showed them the door, watching as they walked around the side of the house before she closed and locked the door. For once she wished her roommates were home.

She sat in the living room and waited until the police left before going into her bedroom. Then she stared out the window at the empty back yard. She'd looked out here so many times in the year she'd been living here and had seen it as just a yard, a place to have parties, to spend time with her ex when he could get away. Now it had a different feeling to it, a dirty, almost evil feeling.

She reached over and pulled on the cord that lowered her blinds, blocking out her view. She drew the curtains closed and only then felt a modicum of safety.

* * *

Forrest and Miller stood next to their cruiser, a small evidence kit in Graham's hand.

"She said she heard a car, shouldn't we check the neighbors, see if they saw a strange car in the area?" heLangdon asked, putting away the sample he'd taken.

"No, you can't go riling folks up just because some girl says she saw something. We got the samples and the pervert is probably long gone and won't be back. Shifts almost over, call it in and have them get someone to drive through a couple of times." Forrest took off his hat and slid behind the steering wheel, thinking about the dinner that his wife had promised him tonight. And maybe if he was lucky, dinner would come with dessert.

* * *

A week passed slowly, a week in which she felt as if she were being watched. She couldn't see anyone, she just had that hair raising feeling on the back of the neck suspicion. It happened at work, at home, even at the grocery store. She'd turn the corner and feel him watching her. Her eyes scanned faces continually, searching eyes to look for recognition. Or a knowledge that he'd seen her that night. She jumped at little things, couldn't sleep. Her appetite was off.

And her blinds stayed down, her curtains drawn.

"Buffy, you're losing it," Nina said to her one day as she was getting ready to leave for work. She was staring out the front window, her eyes scanning the street before she walked out to her car. "One pervert and you're ready to jump out of your skin at the least little thing."

"Yeah, you're not sleeping nights either," Eve, her other roommate chimed in. "I can here you pacing in your room at night. Girl, you need to get laid."

Nina had laughed even as she gave Eve a dirty look. "You think the sun and the moon revolve around a man's penis."

"Yeah, and your point is?"

"Nympho," Nina accused without any heat in her voice.

"Would you two stop, I'm fine. I'm just having a little problem with sleeping." Buffy stepped between the two even though she knew they both got off on digging at each other.

"Okay, but you should go see my doctor. He could set you up with these killer sleeping pills. One of those and the world could explode, you wouldn't hear it," Nina gave her a wink as she drank the last of her coffee. "I could call and get you an appointment."

With a deep sigh and another look out the window, Buffy picked up her purse. "Yeah, okay. I guess it couldn't hurt."

The two friends watched as their roommate left the house, hurrying to her car and looking in the backseat before she opened the door.

"She really is losing it," Nina said, shaking her head.

"Yeah," Eve agreed. She smiled. "When she's institutionalized, I got dibs on her room."

"No fair!" Nina said, throwing the last of her toast at her.

Neither saw the blue four door pull away from the curb where it had been parked, slipping in behind Buffy as she drove away from the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

He watched her. Before work, he would follow her to hers, watching as she would walking to the resaurant. If she were alone, he could see her glancing around. She'd check cars, search faces ... looking for him. The idea sent a thrill through his system. His prey knew she was being hunter, she just didn't know by whom. He'd also come back around lunch when she would work the mid shift. He would even go inside, but never sit in her section. He'd be close enough though, able to see her. He loved to watch her smile, loved the way her green eyes would light up, or to listen to her laugh, the crystalline tones of her sweet voice. He could feel his heart speed up whenever she approached. He'd even made eye contact with her once or twice. But never for long, never long enough for her to feel him, not the way he felt her.

He had gotten her name off of her mail, at first guessing which woman she would be. Buffy Summers, Nina Ash, or Eve Hart. But then he had seen her name badge and he knew. Buffy was an odd name, but so pretty, it seeme to fit her so well.

He thought about her while he worked, using his musician's hands to put together small receivers in a plan for eight to ten hours a day. It was mundane, boring work. He flipped the same part around, putting in four little screws, and that was it. He could do it in his sleep. But it gave him time to think about her, about his Buffy.

He would drive by her house at night. He knew the nights when her roommates would be out and she would alone by the lights in the house. He could feel her inside the house; feel the nerves, the tension in her small body. And that tension, it called to him, he could feel it in his bones even after he left her, driving off to his own lonely home, his cat, greeting him at the door. There he would deleop the pictures that he'd taken during the day, hanging them to dry while he pinned up the ones from the day before.

His wall was full now, Buffy staring at him from hundreds of copies of her face. The others were down now, stored away. He had put away his treasured keepsakes from the women. It felt wrong to have things from another woman sitting around his home when his heart now belonged to one.

The girl he'd thought to possess, the girl who'd been next for him, her pictures now lay forgotten at the bottom of his closet. This Buffy Summers had unknowingly given her a reprieve from the death sentence of being the object of his lust.

He waited for the urge to strike him again; the compulsion to kill that was so overwhelming that it had forced him to take his first life so many years ago in that other place. She'd been messy, screaming for help. She'd clawed and bit him, fueling his rage. He'd beaten her to death and almost ruined his hands in the process, something he'd never let happen again.

Now he had it perfected, his art. His basement was set up just the way he liked it, the room was soundproofed so that even from upstairs, he couldn't hear them scream. He had cameras rigged up, recording the every move they made, capturing every sound, every prayer that was uttered from lips that were his to kiss, his to control. His video cabinet was full of tapes, all color coded and marked in his own special rating system. The end was always marked in red, red for pain, red for death. He had five red coded tapes.

A cable led from the basement up to his bedroom on the first floor, giving him live feed to his television set in there. He had watched the girls, long into the night as they screamed and cried, prayed and fought, trying to find a way out of their plastic cage. He enjoyed watching them, seeing their reaction after he visited. Their tears and pain fueled his fantasies.

Now he spent part of his evening revamping the cage. It was see through plastic, small holes drilled in the top. In one corner were a toilet and a small sink. He didn't want to deprive them of necessities. A small cot with a tiny pillow was bolted down on one side. That was all that was necessary for them. He provided everything else. But now, he added to the cage, buying things he thought his Buffy would enjoy. He bought a small chair, taking the time to bolt it also to the cement floor. A small rug would warm her feet and soft cashmere blankets covered the old cot that would be her bed until she became used to him and learned he meant her no harm, not like the other girls. No, she'd learn that he wanted her to be with him forever. She would learn she was different.

At night, he lay looking at her, seeing her staring back at him from the photos, her eyes sad and happy, tired and smiling all at once. When he closed his eyes, he saw her as she'd been that night, her body highlighted in the soft glow of the lamp, her hair thrown back caressing her skin. He'd get aroused by the memory of her body, nipples hard and erect, pebbled in her excitement, the red satin of her thong damp against her swollen nether lips, snugged in tightly between those perfect globes of her ass.

His hand would stroke over his hard cock as he'd remember the way she'd touched herself, the way her hand had moved under that satin, the look in her eyes as she'd brought herself closer and closer to pleasure. He wished she'd taken off the thong. He wanted to see the rest of her, that place that his grandma had said was dirty but that he knew wasn't.

But that would happen. He only had to be patient.

* * *

It was in the morning newspapers, splayed all over the front page in huge letters: BODIES FOUND IN SECLUDED VALLEY! Buffy read the first few paragraphs, sadden by the thought. Those girls that had been reported missing were all found dead. There had been such an uproar for each one of them, a huge search using dogs and helicopters, and no sign of any of them. And now they were found, gone. She sent out a silent prayer out to the families of each girl.

"Have you seen this yet?" Buffy asked Eve when she'd gotten up, enticed by the coffee Buffy had made. "All five of them dead, found strangled, murdered."

"Yeah, it was all over the news last night," the other woman said. "It was almost all they talked out. I feel so bad for those families, for those girls. I mean, think about it. Your sister or your daughter, your friend or lover killed by some unknown creep out there. It would be awful having to think of how they died, probably scared beyond all thought while some stranger chokes you to death."

Buffy barely managed to hide the shiver that wanted to snake through her system. Her hands went to her own throat, thinking of how those poor girls had died. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want to be calling your parents to tell them you've gone missing."

"Buffy, honey, I think you missed something." Eve took the paper from Buffy and turned it back to where the story was continued on the next page. There it had pictures of the five girls together. "Look at them, Buffy. I think you and Nina have more to worry about than I do."

Buffy looked down. All five of the young women were close in age. They were all pretty, slim, smiling in their photographs from before their kidnapping and ultimate death. And all five of them had long blonde hair.

"Maybe we should dye your hair?" Eve joked.

"Oh, you are so funny." She tugged on a lock of her hair. "Maybe I should cut it shorter?"

Eve leaned over and gave her a hug. "Just be careful. Don't take any chances. Have someone walk you out of the restaurant at night. Not forever," she added as she saw the look on her friend's face, "just until they catch this psycho."

"Yeah," Nina said, walking in on the end of the conversation. "I was going to mention that to you myself. Besides, you said how they found a piece of ribbon outside? You remember my friend, Jesse, he's a cop? He told me last night that all the girls were wearing the same type of red silk ribbon in their hair."

Buffy felt a chill creep through her system, a shiver of fear that she couldn't shake off. "Maybe I should call that Officer Gates? See if he thinks I should worry. I mean, ever since that night..."

Nina got down a cup, stretching on her toes, her night shirt climbing up the back of her legs. "You've been spooked, Buf. Both Eve and I have seen it. We've been worried about leaving you alone here at night." The cup clattered on the counter and she filled it with the dark blend that Buffy had made, stirring in sugar before coming back to the table. "I thought about getting a dog, you know, some extra protection. I just didn't think the three of us were around here enough to take care of a dog."

"No dogs," Eve said. "You know what a mess they are?"

"Just like I said," Nina replied. "We aren't around enough to take care of a dog. Sheesh, try listening before you jump at me, Evie."

Buffy got up, she was working the breakfast shift and she was going to be late. "I think I'll call the detectives in charge of the case. My weirdo could be the same guy as their killer. They'd want to know, right?"

* * *

Homicide detective Angel McKenna was thinking the same thing. He had spent the past two days out on the side of a hill, picking up bones and bodies, searching for any sort of clues. He was filthy, tired and sore from slipping down the side of the hill. His ass wanted to go home, to take a hot shower, grab some coffee and catch an hour's sleep before he would have to come back in and start his day. Instead, here he was, sitting in his office, reaming out a couple of uniforms for not doing their jobs. "And why didn't you do a house by house to see if anyone in the area had noticed anything?"

"Damnit, it was just a peeper." Forrest Gates stood in front of Angel's desk pissed off. "A house search wasn't going to do a thing."

"And you know this how, officer? Are you clairvoyant and we just don't know about it?" Angel watched as the other man fumed, he obviously did not enjoy being talked down to by someone not his superior. He knew what the other man was thinking; he could see it in his eyes. He was trying to come up with an excuse. And Angel, he hated excuses. "Stop," he said, raising up a hand. "Just shut the hell up. Instead of thinking to continue arguing with me, how about you just go out and your job now. It has been a week but maybe someone will remember something." Angel rubbed his tired eyes as the two men left his office. He thought of how he should flag the man's jacket, write up an official complaint for his file. And he would, when he had the energy to look up the right paperwork for it.

"Hey, Angel? You got a call," on of the guys out in the bull pen hollered in to his office.

"Message, asshole," Angel said to himself. "Don't any of you know how to take a message?" He picked up the handset and hit the flashing button on the front of the phone. "Detective McKenna."

"Hi. Umm, are you in charge of the dead girls they found out on Hill Road?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was soft, slightly hesitant and very female. Angel found himself sitting a little straighter in his chair as he answered. "Yeah, what can I do for you?"

"My name is Buffy Summers, detective. I reported a peeping Tom last week. They found some red ribbon out where he'd been standing." She hesitated, waiting for the detective to jump in, to say something about the ribbon, but he was strangely silent. "Sir, do you think it could be the same guy who killed those other girls?"

Angel was silently fuming. They'd kept the ribbon out of the newspaper and hushed for a reason. Somehow they had a leak. A leak in a case was never a good thing but one this early in the case spelled disaster. "Ms. Summers? May I ask how you came by this information?"

"Why? Is it true?" She waited for a second and when he didn't answer, Buffy gave the phone a glare. "Listen, Detective McKenna was it? I had some guy watching me and now, I feel like someone is following me, watching my every move. It's scaring me, Detective, badly. I can't sleep and now I get told that some psycho is putting ribbons in girls' hair, the same kind that was found outside of my house the night that pervert was watching me. Can you understand why I'm calling you?"

"Yes ma'am. I can understand your fears. I've already sent out some officers to your neighborhood to talk to your neighbors. Have you seen anyone following you?"

"No," Buffy admitted. "But I feel it. I feel eyes watching me during the day, sometimes at night if I go out."

"I'd like to speak with you more, later today. Maybe get a police sketch artist to work with you, see if you can recall any details of his face."

"I'm late for work now," Buffy hedged. "My shift ends at four."

"Perfect," he said. He took down the name of the restaurant and the time in his notebook and hung up.

* * *

Buffy left for work. She changed into her uniform in the employee locker room, throwing her purse and clothes into a locker and locking it securely. Grabbing her order pad, she hurried out onto the floor.

"You're late," hissed Olivia as she hurried past with a full tray of food for one of the tables. "She's looking for you."

"Great, just what I need today on top of everything else." She plastered on a smile and headed towards her tables.

She managed to avoid her manager, Maggie Walsh, for half of the morning, but she couldn't avoid the main topic of conversation that everyone was buzzing about. The dead girls. By the time the lunch rush had stopped, she heard so much gossip, each story more absurd than the one before as embellishments were added.

And most of her customers took in her blonde hair, pulled up in a bun for work, and told her to be careful.

Maggie cornered her just as she was coming off of break. Buffy let her words go in one ear and out the other, trying not to be embarrassed over the fact that she was being harangued in front of her co workers and anyone sitting close enough to the kitchen to hear. She glanced over and saw one man, sitting in the booth closest to the prep area, his eyes trained on Maggie. There was a look in his pale eyes, a kind of internal rage that sent a shiver through Buffy.

"Are you listening to me?" Maggie asked, her voice pitched a little shriller at the thought that she might be ignored.

"Yes, Maggie," Buffy said, turning back to her manager. "I heard every word you said." She glanced back over at the table and the man was gone leaving Buffy to wonder if she'd actually saw what she'd thought she had.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly until just before four when the afternoon hostess, Anne, seated a single in her section. He was tall, dark hair and the most mesmerizing brown eyes that Buffy had ever seen.

Olivia nudged her as they passed each other. "Tall, dark and scrumptious at table twelve. Want me to take him for you?"

Buffy shifted the tray of burgers and fries she was hauling out to the floor. "Not on your life," she said, smiling sweetly. She delivered the food, brought out extra ketchup and saved a glass of ice water from being knocked over. Then she made her way to table twelve. "Hi," she said, all smiles. "My name's Buffy. Can I get you something to drink or are you ready to order?"

Angel flipped out his badge, leaving it flat on the table so that it wasn't obvious. "Ms. Summers?" he asked, even though he knew this had to be her. She looked just like the killer's type. Young, pretty with long blonde hair and a figure that he'd had problems taking his eyes off of since he had spotted her.

"Detective McKenna," Buffy sighed, her luck, gorgeous and a cop on a case. Someone up there hated her. "I have another ten minutes left on my shift. Can I get you some coffee while you wait? Maybe tempt you with something to eat?"

He ordered dinner, coffee and a burger. It would probably be the last chance he had to grab anything until he went off shift. And there was no telling when that was. He watched her work while he waited. She was pretty, but there was also something about her that made her sparkle, a quality that he couldn't put his finger on right away. He could see her being the killer's type, very easily. And it made him nervous. She was also very easy on the eyes in a short black skirt with black nylons showing off her legs. A white blouse was tucked in, showing off her flat stomach and nicely rounded breasts, with the open buttons at the throat hinting at deep cleavage. He felt a stir in his groin as he watched her bend slightly to pick something up, her skirt riding a few inches up the back of her smooth thighs.

She slid his food in front of him and then slid into the bench seat across from him with a sigh. "Sorry, sore feet, it's been a long day."

"That's okay." He got out his notebook and pen and then looked at the burger.

"Go ahead. I've got time, Detective. And you look hungry."

Angel gave her a grateful grin. "Thanks, it's been a long time since breakfast," he looked at is watch, "yesterday." He picked up the burger and took a bite, making Buffy laugh at the groan of pleasure that he made at the taste of the food. "I've never eaten here before. Foods not bad," he said after he swallowed.

"Yeah, and the service rocks," she laughed, making him chuckle.

"And is very pretty too," Angel said before he realized. He felt a blush heat his cheeks and stared down at his food.

"Thanks," Buffy said, smiling up at him and enjoying the blush that heated his skin. "I bet you say that to all the ladies you have to interview," she joked.

"Actually, that was a first." His eyes roamed over her pretty features, resting for a moment on her mouth. He felt a stir of interest in his body, something that hadn't happened since he'd gotten out of his last relationship, a relationship that had left him scarred and hardened and too bitter to get involved with someone this young, he reminded himself. He finished off the rest of the burger, eating quickly.

* * *

"Ms. Summers, on the night of September 20th, you were in your home. Can you tell me what happened that night?"

"I don't see how going over this again is going to do any good but, okay, I'm game if you are. I was tired, it'd been a long day here, we'd been short staffed and I ended up working a double. I got home and my roommates weren't home."

"That's Nina Ash and Eve Hart, right?"

"Yes," she said, watching him scribble something into his notebook. "Anyway, I went in to the house and put away the groceries that I'd gotten that night, then decided to take a hot bath to relax."

"Groceries, there wasn't any mention of groceries in the first report." He flipped back through his notebook to look at the notes he'd made earlier that day after he talked to her. Angel was thorough, going through the original reports with a fine tooth comb and making notes to remind him of the details.

"I guess I didn't think about it that night," she said with a shrug. "I stopped and picked up a few things." Buffy tried to look at the notebook, but with his illegible scrawl and it being upside down, she couldn't make out a word.

"Where do you shop, Ms. Summers?"

"Buffy, please. I stopped at Bushes on 3rd Street on the way home. I just ran in for some milk and stuff. Why?"

"Is that where you always shop?" he asked, writing in his notebook.

"Yeah, it's right on the way home, pretty convenient when it's late at night. And their prices aren't too outrageous either."

"Did anything happen there, did you run into anyone you know, see anything strange, anything unusual?" Angel peered up at her from under his eyelashes. She was gnawing on her bottom lip, her teeth nibbling delicately. He felt this strong urge to reach over, to run his finger across her lips, to see if they were as soft as they looked. It was a compulsion that he quickly squashed.

"I ran into the store and ran out. I ... wait. No. There was a guy. I was on my way into the store and checking in my purse to make sure I had my checkbook with me and ran into this man. I said I was sorry, he said he was sorry. I wished him a good night and that was it." She closed her eyes hunting her memory to see if she could remember what he looked like. She just saw so many strangers everyday, it was hard to pick one out of the crowd.

"Okay, you left the store, where did you go next?"

"I went home, put away my groceries and looked through the mail. I went down to my bedroom, it has its own bathroom." She could feel her cheeks flushing as she thought of what happened next.

Angel caught the blush. "Then?" he prompted.

"I was getting undressed and saw eyes that were reflected in the mirror above my dresser. I grabbed my shirt and turned around. I couldn't see his face, it was too dark outside. I could just see his eyes. He took off running and I thought about looking to see which way he ran, but by the time I got to the front window, he was gone." She suppressed a shudder at the thought of that night.

"So he was probably watching you, what two, three minutes?" Angel asked, writing in his notebook. When Buffy didn't answer right away, he looked up. She was chewing on her lip again, her face flushed. "Buffy? It was only a few minutes, right?"

"I don't know for sure. It could have been more like ten to fifteen," she said, not looking at him.

"He watched you for ten to fifteen minutes?"

"I don't know if he was out there for all that time or not." Buffy wanted to slide under the table, she could feel those gorgeous eyes staring at her and she refused to meet them.

"Buffy?" Angel said softly, waiting until she finally looked at him. "Anything you say to me that won't be used on the case will be kept between you and me."

She nodded her head, smiling ruefully. She closed her eyes and swallowed. "I was..." she hesitated and he could almost see her mind working, "doing yoga."

"Yoga?" he asked skeptically.

"Yoga," she said again, wondering if the lie showed on her face. "It works better in front of a mirror."

"And do you always do yoga in front of your mirror half naked?" He knew she was lying, but he didn't know why. The expression on her beautiful face gave her away.

"No, but as I said, it was a hell of a day, and I was stressed, I did a few short exercises to get rid of some of it." She looked up and met his eyes, forcing herself to keep staring into the gorgeous brown of his. "Is there some law against that, Detective?"

Angel smiled, admiring her gumption. "No, there's no law against that. And please, call me Angel."

She couldn't help but smile back. It wasn't fair for a cop to look so damn good looking. "After that, I looked into the mirror, saw him staring at me."

Angel wrote down something in his illegible scrawl then flipped his notebook closed. "You haven't seen him since?"

"I don't know. I only saw his eyes and only for that brief time." She shrugged. "I've been feeling kind of strange since then though," she said, acting as if it weren't a big deal. She didn't want to come off as a hysterical female. "Which is why I called this morning after I found out about the red ribbons being left. It's like there is someone watching me, following me."

"But you haven't seen anyone?"

"No, but I feel eyes. How do I put this?" She squinted her eyes shut as she thought, her nose wrinkling. "Like the hair standing up on the back of your neck feeling that someone is out there watching you. That's how I feel."

"Okay. And this is just since the twentieth?"

"Yes. I'm not crazy. Really I'm not. I know what I feel and I know that someone is out there watching me." She reached out and grabbed his wrist. "I feel it in the morning when I leave for work. If I go anywhere at night or out to dinner, I can feel it. Sometimes, even here at work, I get that creepy crawly feeling."

"Has any of your friends or co workers noticed anything? Have you had anything taken from your car or missing from your home?" Angel was willing to take her seriously. Their unknown subject had been working on an accelerated pace, taking his victims about one every two weeks according to the time line that he had worked up by the dates of disappearances. The medical examiner hadn't been doing very well on time of death. With the last victim, they'd had a little more luck. Ambient temperature had preserved the body and animals hadn't had much of a chance to do more than start to feast. Insects had found her, and there they had their luck. Samples taken of insect larva and adults had been flown to the State Crime Laboratory where the state was lucky enough to have their own expert in insects. They were still waiting on reports back from them.

"My friends think I'm losing it." Buffy looked up at him. "I think I am too, sometimes. I'm scared and I don't like it."

Angel reached out a comforting hand and let it rest on the hand she still had on his wrist. "It's an invasion of your privacy, Buffy, a kind of rape of your own personal space. It's understandable for you to be afraid. But if you take reasonable precautions you should be safe." He stared into the dark shadows of her eyes, feeling an intense attraction that he hadn't expected. He looked down, realizing that he was still holding her small hand in her own and he pulled away, clearing his throat. "Um, I can set up some defense classes for you and any of your friends that are interested. Sometimes, just knowing a few simple moves can stop an attack dead."

Buffy smiled, she felt the attraction just as strongly as the detective. When he'd touched her hand, a sharp thrill had traveled through her nerve endings, surprising her. "Sure. I'll let you know after I talk to them."

"Are you done for the day?" he asked, stashing his notebook back inside his jacket pocket. He pulled out his wallet to pay for his food.

"Yes. And your food is taken care of, Detective." She smiled as he nodded his thanks and smiled back.

"Then how about I walk you out to your car, I'd like to see your backyard, the window this man was looking in, maybe if you see me out there, you'll be able to remember more." He stood up next to the booth and waited for her to rise.

"I just have to grab my stuff from the back, if you'd like to wait for me outside?" she asked, smiling up at him. He was much taller than she was, and she had to look up at him. One of the waitresses walked by with her arms full of tray piled high with food and Angel took a step towards her, pressing against her as he got out of the way. His body was hard against hers, making her catch her breath at the pleasure it evoked. She heard his mumbled apology and stuttered a reply, shifting away from him reluctantly when he stepped back. She hurried to the locker room grabbing her bag and waving a quick goodbye to Olivia who smiled smugly and waved back, flashing her a thumb's up sign.

Angel was waiting outside. When Buffy came out the doors, he flipped a half smoked cigarette into an outside ashtray can and met her half way. She glanced back at the cigarette still smoldering in the sand left in the can, then glanced up at him.

"I'm trying to quit." He laughed. "I'm always trying to quit." He waved his hand out in front of him, letting her go ahead. She led him to an ancient red Camaro that had seen much better days.

He stopped her when he saw that the door was ajar.

"Wait here," he said, holding her arm back for a second. He reached under his jacket, pulling out a Glock 9 millimeter and flipping off the safety. He stepped back, looking under the car quickly before going towards the door. Grabbing a latex glove out of his jacket pocket, he reached out and pulled the door open, looking through the window into the backseat. No one was in the car but sitting in the passenger seat was a square box wrapped in silvery paper with a bright red silk ribbon tied in a beautiful bow on the top. The box was roughly the size of a woman's shoe box. "Is it your birthday or maybe an anniversary?" he asked, putting his Glock back into its holster.

"No," she said, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Boyfriend with keys to your car who likes to leave you presents?" Angel asked as he reached carefully into the car.

"I don't have a boyfriend right now. What's going on?" She took a few steps closer to the car.

Angel picked the package up carefully, making sure to not touch it with his bare hands. It was heavy and solid. He pulled it out of the car and placed it on the hood. "There's no card. Do you know of anyone who might leave you presents in your car? Does anyone have an extra key? Of course, I'm assuming you had this locked."

"Of course, I've been locking it everywhere I go since that night. And no one has keys to my car. I have an extra set at home and my parents have a set but they live out of state." A quick surge of fear flowed through her. "It was him, wasn't it? He broke into my car and left me that."

"Buffy," he turned and took her arms in his hands giving her a gentle shake. "It's okay. It could just be from a friend." He waited until she looked up at him and got control of herself. "I'll take it back to our crime lab, we'll x ray it, see what's in it. If that's okay with you."

She was nodding her head before he was even through speaking. "Take it, please. I don't want it."

"Okay. I'm going to call this in, get someone out here to print your car and take this to the lab." He looked into her eyes, making sure she was calm. He gave her a smile. "It'll just take a little while for them to get out here. And then I'll drive you home."

"What about my car?"

"I might have to have it towed into the crime lab so they can go through it. That's just a maybe though," he hastened to say. "Probably they'll just want to print it."

She closed her eyes and sighed, her shoulders tensing up. "I don't work tomorrow, maybe one of the girls can bring me back for it." She sighed again when he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

He walked a few paces away and pulled out his cell phone, calling in for a crime scene unit. He turned as he spoke into the phone, looking back at Buffy as she stood, her arms wrapped around her waist, her eyes searching the area. He caught her eye and smiled again.

When he was done setting up the lab and calling the techs, he called in for a unit to come and secure the scene. Then he went back to her. "This will take a few minutes for the unit to get here. If you'd like to go back in and wait, it would be okay."

"Could I stay out here with you?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you can. I'm going to bring my car over, you can sit in it and wait while I check out a few things. How does that sound?"

With that, she smiled, relieved. She hated feeling and sounding like a scared little girl, but she couldn't help it. She'd never been more scared in her life. "Thank you."

He brought his car over, blocking off this end of the parking lot, turning on the blue bubble light that he kept on his dash. Opening the passenger door, he let her sit down inside, leaving the door open so she could see him. His head kept asking him why he was being so solicitous. But he pushed the thought ruthlessly to the side, taking a small flashlight out of his trunk. After getting a paper bag out , he walked over and carefully put the gift inside the bag, closing the top.

As soon as the first unit showed up, he sent them into the restaurant to do interviews to see if anyone had noticed anything. Though the employee parking lot was around to the back of the restaurant, which meant for a patron to have seen anything would be a miracle. He had them grab the manager and get addresses for all staff that worked that day, and then sent another team of detectives out to ask them if they'd seen anyone around the car. When the crime scene people arrived, the car was taped off, the scene secured and waiting for them. After speaking to Angel, they decided to tow the car to the lab where they'd be better able to print it.

"Bad news, Buffy. I'm sorry, they want to take it to the lab. They'll only have it a couple of days though and they'll call you when they're through." He smiled as he crouched down to talk to her. "I can run you to the store tonight before I take you home if you need anything." He heard himself offering before he'd thought the words. But when she smiled, and thanked him, he couldn't be sorry for them.

"Thanks. That's very nice of you. But I'm fine. If you could just get me home..." she let the sentence dangle.

"We're almost out of here, let me just talked to my men and then we're gone." He patted her hands.

When he turned around he started wondering at himself. He'd always been good to victims, usually though, his victims were dead and the live people he dealt with were either the relatives of the dead or the suspects. He respected the relatives and tore into the suspects. He kept his hands to himself, did what was necessary and did his job, no matter how ugly, how gruesome and grizzly it was. So why was he acting this way? He glanced over his shoulder, seeing her smile. Buffy was beautiful. But he'd dated, slept with, had even once been married to a woman who was quite beautiful. Buffy was vulnerable right now, scared and confused, but he was around the vulnerable daily. What was so different about her?

He left orders to be called if anyone found anything, took a quick look around the lot. He was convinced that the person who had left the gift, whether it was their suspect or not, would want to be around for the unveiling. And having the police show up had probably pissed him off.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

Angel McKenna had no idea of how right he was.

A chair went flying across the room, followed by an orange streak as the cat ran from the room. A vase followed, shattering in a burst of colored glass as it crashed against the wall. Papers flew around the room as he pushed mail and dishes off the breakfast bar. A lamp crashed against the refrigerator, shards of pottery raining down onto the kitchen linoleum. He stood, chest heaving, his eyes tracking the room and taking in the damage he had caused as rage flared through his system. He forced himself to be still after the tantrum, he forced his mind to calm as he had when he was much younger. That little voice, the one that had stood him in good stead as a child talked to him now. "We'll get even, she'll see us, don't worry. She'll love us," it whispered quietly. "Take care of business, take care of now. Soon." He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with a handkerchief he'd pulled from his pocket. With a smile, he turned towards the stairs, his next gift waited for him down there. And this gift was sure to get her attention.

He opened the basement door, pulling the heavy panel closed behind him. The screams started as soon as he turned on the light switch. He stood for a moment, enjoying the sound, letting it soothe him. Starting down the stairs, he could see into the small plastic cube that was approximately half the size of the other room he'd always used. But that room was for Buffy, and he wouldn't let this one ruin one thing that was to be hers's. Instead, the cube was shorter, barely tall enough for a woman to stand.

She was sitting in a chair, tied to the arms and legs with long thick plastic zip ties. The ties had rubbed into her skin, leaving deep wounds in the flesh of her wrists and ankles. Blood had dripped onto the floor around her. She was naked, vulnerable and fear shone in her eyes. "Please, let me go," she begged as soon as she saw him. "I won't tell, I promise. Please, God." Her voice was muffled from the plastic, coming to him from the holes drilled across the top of the plastic cube.

He pulled open the door and went inside, dropping to his knees. He came closer, staring into her eyes, letting his fingertips run across her arm and up to her shoulder. She tried to pull away, gasping at the pain in her wrist from the movement. His hand tangled in the snarled and matted hair just above her ears. It was the wrong color of blonde that he preferred, it was cut short, and she was much older than his girls.

He pulled his hand back, taking her head with it until her throat was a tender and defenseless arched line, her pulse beating madly, pulsing against her pale skin. He leaned closer, feeling her shaking as his mouth touched that throbbing pulse. His tongue slipped out, licking at the salty tang of sweat her struggles and fear had left upon her skin, savoring the taste of her terror. His eyes roamed over her naked body, eyeing the sagging breasts, the scar that bisected her slightly flabby stomach. Her sex was covered in light blonde wisps of hair, her frame so different from the taut, tawny bodies of the young girls that he had loved.

He let his eyes show his disgust. She was nothing like his normal prey, so unworthy of his attention. If only she hadn't done and said what she had that day, he wouldn't have ever even seen her. But she was here now, here and his to do with what he wished.

His hand slid down her front, cupping her breast even as she whined and tried to pull away from him. His fingers pulled at her nipple, tugging and twisting gently. It hardened under his ministrations, making him laugh. "Look at you." He laughed derisively. "You're like the rest of them. You fight and fight but your bodies crave my touch. In the end, you'll beg me, just like the rest of them did."

He moved away, leaving the cube and going to a small dresser off to the side of the room. After fumbling through a drawer, he returned, a brush in his hands. He carefully brushed the mats and tangles out of her short blonde hair, brushing it gently away from her face. Every time she would try to pull away, he would turn the brush, using it like a paddle on her arms and legs, raising bright red welts across her skin. He finally finished, putting the brush handle side down inside the back pocket of his jeans. He moved around so that he faced her, using his hands to stroke over the smooth strands. He wiped the tears from under her eyes with his thumbs, smiling gently. Reaching into his front pocket, he pulled out a long trail of bright red silk ribbon. He wrapped it around her hair, tying it deftly into a bow and then moving the bow so that it lay just above her left ear.

Sobs racking her form, she tried to hold still for him. She prayed silently through her tears, begging God to help her. When her captor moved away once more, she prayed that he would leave, that he would go away like he had before. Even sitting in the chair, cold, scared and having to pee was better than having his eyes on her body, the disgust he felt evident. It was better than having his hands on her.

When he turned, she screamed. His face had changed, it was no longer kind or disgusted, now his eyes had grown hard and cold. He pulled off his clothes, grabbing her hips and dragging her forward in the chair, twisting the ties around her ankles so they bit even deeper in to her abused flesh. He plunged into her dry sex and as his hands closed around her throat, his body ripping into hers, she begged.

* * *

Buffy sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Her day off had gone by far too fast and she was due in to the restaurant early this morning. Lucky her, she was doing prep with Maggie this time. Another sigh slipped from her as she walked across the deserted parking lot to the back door. It was just one more little jab from Maggie at her, forcing her to come in this early in the morning to work with her.

But she needed this job. She had bills to pay, rent due and she happened to like eating on a regular basis. So if she needed to kiss up to dragon queen to keep her job, then so be it. She would. But as she drew closer, Buffy began to notice something strange. The employee entrance, also used for deliveries, was wide open, the door propped with a block. Buffy stepped forward slowly, she knew Maggie never left that door open. Maggie Walsh was almost anal when it came to locks and security, keeping things safe and keeping the health department off of her back. She looked around the lot, her eyes searching out the shadows. The only two cars were hers, retrieved from the crime lab yesterday, and her boss'. It was almost eerily quiet.

"Maggie?" she called softly, looking in the open door. Everything looked okay to her. The door opened into the back hallway. Two doors opened from that hall, one going into the locker room that everyone used, the other going into the manager's office. The door to the office stood open. Buffy took a couple hesitant steps in. "Mags?" she called once more. "Where are you?" Her heart was racing, she knew something was wrong. She knew it. She could feel it. Two more quiet steps forward and she could see just inside the manager's office. It wasn't a big room, more like a closet with a desk and a safe. Extra tills were stacked on a shelf off to one side. A chair sat in front of the desk, empty.

Buffy took the last step that put her in front of the door. A gasp of horror escaped her lips as she stared at the figure sitting behind the desk. She backed away from the door slowly, turning and running out of the building, her hand digging through her purse, frantically looking for her cell phone. She hurried to her car, unlocking it quickly and sitting in the driver's seat before dialing 911.

She was still sitting there, on the phone with the 911 operator when the first police cruiser pulled up, lights flashing. One officer came toward her as she opened her car door.

"She's inside, in the office. She's dead. I know she's dead." She knew she was babbling and hysterical but she was terrified.

"Okay, ma'am. Did you see anyone else inside the building?" As she shook her head, he waved her back. "Sit back in your car and don't move." The officer moved towards the building, pulling his duty weapon as he went, his partner standing off to the side of the door. They went in together, one low the other high. She heard one of them call out. "Police!"

Two more cruisers showed up in short order and she was escorted to one of them and given a seat in the back. She watched as an officer taped off the area. Police went in and out of the restaurant, but no one came and talked to her.

Just as she was about to open the door and find someone, an unmarked car pulled up and Angel McKenna stepped out of the driver's side. Another man stepped out of the passenger side and they both walked up to one of the uniformed officers. He gestured towards the cruiser that she was sitting in and he nodded, talked a few more moments and then headed her way.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly as he opened the cruiser door.

"Maggie's dead in there. He killed her, the maniac with the red ribbons. And he left her for me to find." She felt panicked tears slip down her cheeks and wiped them away with furious hands. She was scared and she hated herself for being scared. But she was also mad. "Why would he kill her? She so much older than his other victims and has nothing in common with them at all really."

"You've thought this through, haven't you?" he asked her, crouching down in front of the door to be more at her height.

"I've been sitting in a car for over an hour, Detective. I didn't have much more to do than think. It's like the box in my car. He's leaving things for me to find." She held her bag close to her stomach, wrapping her arms over it, huddling into herself. "How he knew my schedule, I don't know. All I do know is he left her there for me to find, he's following me and watching me. Do you believe me now?"

Angel pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, looking at it and then putting it back in with a sigh. "I don't know anything yet, I've got to go work the scene. I need you to stay put here and then I'll be back to talk to you in a little while." He patted her on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

A car pulled in, a man in a suit getting out and storming towards one of the officers. Angel saw him, gave her one last reassuring smile and then went to head him off.

"I'm sorry sir, this is a crime scene and you can't be here."

"My name is Ted Buchanan. I own this restaurant." The older man puffed out his chest and tried to stare Angel down. "I want to know what's going on here. Do you know what all this halibaloo is going to do to business?"

He stood his ground. "Mr. Buchanan, I don't have all the facts yet. When I do, I'll be happy to let you know all the pertinent data. Until that time," he grabbed the man by the shoulder, "if you could go and talk to that man over there," he pointed towards the man he'd brought with him, Detective Billy Fordham. "He'll have some questions for you."

The crime scene team along with the coroner's van showed up as he was talking. Angel pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, pulling them on as he turned toward the back door of the building. Walking inside, he could smell a strong scent of cleaner. Under it, the unmistakable smell of death mixed with the scent of cooking from the kitchen area. The tiles on the floor gleamed, and he stepped to the side of the door, hugging the wall of the hallway. Tile floors were excellent for lifting shoe prints, as long as the killer hadn't cleaned behind himself.

He found himself in the entryway to the office, staring at the victim's body. Maggie Walsh sat behind the desk, her body dressed garishly in clothing that was too tight for her body. Her face had been made up, bright blue eye makeup covered her eyes, harshly red blush streaked her pale cheeks, and garishly scarlet lipstick covered her lips and smeared over her skin. Her blonde hair was brushed back and a red ribbon tied in a bow just above her ear. A red halter bit into her breasts. She was propped up behind the desk, tied to the chair behind her. One glance sent a chill down Angel's spine. Buffy was right, if this was the same man, Maggie here definitely wasn't his normal choice in victims.

Angel moved into the room, cautiously. There was a sheet of paper on the desk, a pen lying lax in Maggie's hands that were resting upon the paper. From what he could see on the paper, an almost illegible scrawl had written two words. "I'm Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Angel asked aloud.

The coroner came in, stepping to the other side of him. "Oh my," he said as he got his first glance. "Someone really has a problem with women."

"Or with this woman," Angel replied. "How you doing?"

"Doing good, Angel. Was better before I saw this but..." he shrugged. He reached around, feeling for a pulse. "Welp, she's definitely dead."

"Funny, now tell me something I don't know." He moved around to the other side of the body. He carefully moved part of her hand. "She's just coming out of rigor. I'd say time of death was yesterday sometime, very early." He moved her head to the side slightly, exposing deep puffy bruises, caused by fingers. "I'd say cause of death was suffocation. And from the look of the bruises and the way they ring her neck," he looked up at Angel, "I'd say she was strangled until she was unconscious and then brought around so that he could do it over and over."

"Shit," Angel hissed.

"Yeah. I'll be able to give you more at my post after I open her up. This is one sick fuck, Angel." He stepped back as the crime scene analysts showed up at the door. "I'll get out of your way, tell me when I can take the body." He walked out.

Kendra Others and Devon MacLeish from the crime lab entered after him, each carrying a metal case, Kendra with a camera around her neck, stopped just inside of the door. "Jeez," she breathed in her accented tongue. She sat down her case and lifted up her camera, taking duplicate overalls of the entire room before taking pictures of the note, the pen just lying on Maggie's hands. "I thought our guy was into long haired young blondes? Escalating?"

"Or making a statement." Angel leaned over, staring down at the paper. "I wonder what he wanted her to be sorry about."

"We'll get it printed right away. He's got to start making mistakes soon. They always do, sooner or later." Devon lifted the note in his latex covered hands and slid it carefully into an evidence bag. The pen went into another. He sealed the bags and slipped them into another bag. "Kendra, get some pictures of her wrists." He moved out of the way, holding her arms out slightly so that the ligature marks could be plainly seen.

Angel stared down at her bare legs, seeing the same torn and bruised skin around her ankles. Large gashes, made by something very hard and tight that she struggled against ringed her ankles. Ropes caused bruises, burns and chafing marks. These ligature marks looked more like something made with plastic or wire. Blood had run in streaks down her legs, drying on her pale skin. He felt a surge of unprofessional rage well inside of him. Murder was dirty; it was a cheap thrill for a sick mind. Crimes of passion were more easily understood, rage could affect anyone. But a serial killer was like a sick dog. He killed for the thrill, for the joy, for the pleasure that he derived from someone else's pain. And a man who would take women away from their families for no other reason than his own personal perversions was the worse. That's what they were up against here. "Get me results quick as you can, okay?" he touched dark haired Kendra on the shoulder. "And be careful. I don't want to come to a scene like this and find you."

Kendra tapped the Glock strapped to her side. "He wouldn't find me an easy victim, but thanks for caring." She smiled and turned back to her work as Angel slipped out of the room.

* * *

Buffy sat up straighter when she saw Angel walk out of the restaurant door. Tears streaked her cheeks and her head throbbed from stress and crying. She gave him a tremulous smile as he walked up to the car door. "This is my fault, isn't it?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

"No, this isn't your fault, Buffy, how could you think that?" He crouched down in front of her. "A killer took her, he murdered her. It's his fault, not yours."

"But he left me that box, didn't he? He broke into my car and left that box. He took her and killed her. He must be watching me. So it is my fault she's dead." Tears slipped down her cheeks despite her best effort to stop them.

"Listen to me. You didn't do anything to attract him. This isn't your fault. You've got to believe that, okay?"

"Okay," she said, but he heard the doubt in her voice.

"I need to get a statement from you. I'm going to have you taken downtown. I want you to wait for me there."

"Can't I stay with you now?" Buffy looked around the area nervously. "I feel like I'm being watched."

Angel stared at the gathering crowd of people. Their killer could be there watching them right now. A lot of serials liked to watch the cops work the scene. They got a thrill out of standing so close to the men that were hunting them, out of seeing what havoc their handiwork wrought. "Buffy, I want you to look at the crowd out there and tell me if anyone seems even vaguely familiar. Can you do that?" She took the hand he held out and got out of the car as he stood up. "Just make it nonchalant., nothing overt. Just scan the crowd. We don't want to alert him."

Buffy stared around at the crowd, her eyes scanning each face. She saw people that were regulars at the restaurant, a couple looking upset that they were missing their morning coffee because the manager managed to get herself killed. She saw a few men that, to her untrained eyes, could look suspicious, but not a single one had their eyes trained on her. "I don't recognize any of them. I'm sorry." She glanced around again, catching the eyes of one man, a dark haired man. There was nothing unusual about him, nothing that screamed out that he was a serial killer. Why couldn't they all have wild eyes and bushy hair with a swastika tattooed between their eyes like Charlie Manson she wondered.

"When was the last time you saw Maggie?" he asked.

"Two days ago. I was working a split shift that day, the day you came to the restaurant. She left about an hour before you came in." She rubbed a tired hand across her aching forehead. "She'd reamed me out at the restaurant for being late for my shift. Oh, God, the last thought I had about her was how I wished someone would kill her and put her out of my misery." She closed her eyes as shame flashed through her. "How could I wish that on anyone?"

"You're normal. That's how." He patted her arm. "She didn't seem upset or concerned about anything when she left? Was she alone?"

"I got nothing more than the usual BS. She snapped at me and told me to be on time today. And," she tipped her head to the side, thinking, "as far as I know, she's never with anyone. She never had many friends."

"Okay. I'm going to have you taken downtown now. We'll get into this more then. I'll be there as soon as I can." He wished he could touch her in some way, let her know that he would be there for her. He'd had problems getting her out of is head since the first time he'd seen her, standing with a tray of food, making a face at a two year old boy that had sent the little boy into peals of laughter.

Even taking her home, seeing her in her bedroom, a precious stone set in beautiful surroundings, had made her more beautiful, more desirable. He could feel her pull; feel the attraction he had for her and knew he couldn't give in to it. She was a witness, a victim and a case. He had to think of the case. So after taking measurements by how tall she thought the man had been after seeing Angel outside her bedroom window, he'd left her his card, writing his home number on the back, and had gone back to work, to immerse himself in the case.

Now here he was again, feeling that pull, sensing she felt the same and not being able to act upon it. He put her back in the patrol car, called over the officer and gave him instructions and then went back to work. He had other interviews and a family to call.

* * *

Buffy stared at the dull gray walls of the small room she'd been left in. It was cold, dingy and very unwelcoming. She had her choice; she could stare at the dull gray walls, at the reflection of herself in the undoubtedly two way mirror, or into the cup of rapidly cooling grayish sludge the officer had dropped into her hands before leaving her here. None of the three were very welcoming.

She kept seeing Maggie's face, that garish makeup, those too tight clothes. And worse, the nasty swelled bruises that circled her neck. She thought back to that last day, how she had told her roommates so vehemently that she wished Maggie would die or move to Tucson, one or the other, so she'd be out of her hair. How could she have been so crass?

She glanced down at the watch that circled her slim wrist. Time seemed to be moving almost backwards, the hour she'd spent in this room felt like days. It must make for a fantastic interviewing technique. Leave the poor fool in this tiny space and let them stew until they think they'll go mad, than come in. She felt like she'd confess to the murder herself just to get out of this room.

The door clicked open just as she was about to stand up and pace the floor again.

"Sorry I had to leave you in here so long," Angel said, kicking the door closed behind him. In his hands he held two cups of steaming brew that held the aroma of real coffee and not the scorched and bitter smell of the diesel oil that was in the cup she'd nursed for an hour. "It couldn't be avoided."

"Thanks," she said, taking the cup from his hand. She took a sip and sighed. He'd even fixed it the way she liked, two sugars, one cream. "This is good."

"Yeah, I swiped it from Vice. They have the good coffee maker. I think they confiscated it at one of their raids." She smiled back at him as he had hoped she would. It was just a slight twist of her full lips, but it was there. He spun the chair across from her around, straddling it, leaning his elbows on the back. He pulled a small cassette recorder from his pocket, setting it on the desk. "I need to record this if you don't mind."

Buffy stared at the tape recorder, her mind reeling. It was like a nightmare out of some bad cop drama on TV. "No, I guess not."

"Thanks," he said, pushing the record buttons. In a neutral voice he gave the date and time, his own name and hers. "Now Buffy, I'm going to read you your rights." He spoke quickly before she could interrupt or get upset. "It's for your protection as well as our own. It doesn't mean you're under arrest or even under suspicion for anything. Okay?" She got visibly upset, her hands wrapping around the Styrofoam cup shaking. She nodded her head, closing her eyes for a second as she listened to what he was saying. "Now, do you understand those rights as I've just explained them to you?"

"Yes," she said, loud enough for the recorder to hear her.

"Good." He smiled, trying to be encouraging. "Now, Buffy, can you take me through what happened this morning?"

Buffy took another small sip of the coffee and sighed, feeling her head throbbing more as the caffeine hit her system. "Okay. Where do you want me to start?"

"You had to work this morning, opening with Maggie Walsh..." he prompted.

"Yeah, and after she read me the riot act for being late the other day, I didn't want to be late this morning. I got to the restaurant around 6:30 a.m. and the first thing I noticed was the back door was blocked open." She took another sip and then sat the cup down, picking at the rim of it.

"That's unusual?"

"She is a stickler for the rules. We aren't supposed to leave that open for any reason at all. It's too close to the manager's office where the safe is and it's also a health department law. It could cause food contamination from germs, that kind of thing because the dumpster is so close to the back door." She looked up at him. "I knew something was wrong right then. Maggie would never, not in a million years, leave that door opened."

"Okay, then what happened?"

"I was scared, terrified actually. After the gift in my car and all of that, I haven't been able to quit being scared. I made myself walk in. I called her name two or three times and when she didn't answer, I went to her office. And I found ... that," she finished, raising her hand to her mouth and pressing hard. "He meant for me to find her, he meant for me to, just like he had with the gift. Did he do this with the others, leave them gifts?" A tear streaked down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily.

"No, he didn't. That's why we're not so sure it's him. It could be a copycat, someone who's read the paper and then became fixated on you." He reached out and squeezed her hand gently, encouragingly. "Now, once more, when you left for work this morning, you drove in the way you normally do?"

"Yeah, I drove the same route I always do. I didn't stop anywhere because I wanted to be there early so Mags wouldn't have anything to get on my case about." "You didn't see anyone?"

"No, no one, not on the drive in, not once I got to the parking lot. But I was more focused on the door then anything else." She felt a sting on her fingers, a drop of coffee falling from the lip of her cup that she had ripped apart, landing upon the back of her hand. She rubbed it off with her thumb. "I thought about it after I saw her, he could still be in the restaurant, or waiting outside for me to come out."

"So why didn't you stay put?" Angel forced himself to sit up a little in his chair. He wanted to lean forward and lace his hand with hers, do what he could to help her through this ordeal. He knew the sudden shock of finding a dead body, how it felt to realize the person in front of him was dead. The icy feeling of shock that crept through, taking your breath. Horror, especially at the gruesomeness of murder, and the way it affected someone and kept affecting them no matter what was done was almost second nature in his job.

"I couldn't stay in that room with her," she said, her voice full of shame. "I couldn't wait there for the cops. I just couldn't."

"It's okay. No one expected you to stay in there. I know a lot of new homicide detectives who can't handle death even as well as you did." He wrote a few notes in his notebook, nothing probative, just taking enough time to get himself under control once more. "Okay, now take me back, the last time you saw Maggie before today. You said she read you the riot act. What was that about?"

"It was the morning that I called you the first time. I was late coming in because of the call, the one I made to talk to you. She railed on me about being late all the time. She waited until I was coming back off a break and started in on me just outside of the kitchen." Buffy closed her eyes, seeing the scene in her mind as clear as a bell. "She was yelling at me and I looked around because I was embarrassed that she was doing this in front of everyone. I thought I saw this guy, he looked really interested in what she was saying, but when I looked again, he was gone."

"What did this guy look like?" Angel sat forward, his pen poised above his notepad.

"I ... I'm not sure. I just caught a quick look at him. You know, like out of the corner of my eye. When I turned to look again, he was gone." She folded her hands together in front of her trying to control their shaking.

Angel sat down his pen with a quiet sigh. It was never easy. "Buffy, I want you to close your eyes for me, okay, just relax and close your eyes." He waited, hearing her soft exhale in the muted silence of the interrogation room. She closed her eyes, her features softening slightly and he couldn't help but see the deep dark shadows around her eyes, the lines near her mouth that told him just how scared and stressed she actually was. But there wasn't anything he could do about that but capture this creep and put him away. "Okay, now I want you to listen to the sound of my voice. You know you are safe here, no one can harm you. I want you to think back on that last day, when your boss, Maggie, was yelling at you. I want you to look around you, see the kitchen staff working, the other waitresses. There are tables of people waiting to be served. Can you see them?"

Buffy let herself be drawn into the sound of his voice, welcoming the cool deep tones of it like a lifeline to take her away from the image of Maggie in that grisly little office. She let his voice create the pictures, seeing the tables and the kitchen staff. Olivia breezed by, a large tray up on her shoulder and a look of sympathy upon her face as Maggie's voice seemed to buzz annoyingly in her ear. Then she forced herself to turn, to see the man sitting in the first booth, to study him though every bone in her body cringed away from it.

"Now Buffy, turn and look at him. He can't hurt you now. You are safe, here at the police station and with me. Look at him and tell me what you see."

"He's looking at her, not at me."

"What about the rest of him?" he asked her, watching as she squinted as if trying to focus the image clearer.

"Dark hair, I don't know. Brown, I guess. It's all sort of fuzzy." Buffy opened her eyes, frustration and anger battling inside of her. "I can't see him. All I see are pale eyes and then Maggie, staring at me, dead." Angel felt his heart go out to the poor girl. It was hell being in the position she was in, but he couldn't afford to give out sympathy now. He had a man out there killing women and this one girl might be the answer to catch him.

"I'm going to have you put under police protection. We'll have you escorted to a safe house and someone will be with you twenty four hours a day until we catch him."

Her head was shaking before he even finished the sentence. "No. There is no way that I am going into hiding."

"Buffy, think about what would be safest for you. We can even bring your friends along too if you'd like and are worried about them. I just want you taken care of." Angel reached out and covered her folded hands with one of his own.

"Then you do it."

"What?" he asked, shaking his head at her sudden change of heart.

"I'll stay with you," she said simply.

His hand tightened on top of hers for a single moment before he leaned back in his chair, staring at her in consternation. "I can't baby sit you, Buffy. I have to solve this case."

"And who better than to have me around then you? He seems to be drawn to me." She sat forward, more relaxed now that she had made up her mind than she'd been since she'd first pulled into the driveway of the restaurant this morning. "You said it yourself, I need protection from him. I want you."

"Buffy..." he stuttered to a halt, incredulous. He stood, staring into the two way mirror where he could see his reflection. But he knew his boss, Captain Rupert Giles, was on the other side, listening and watching his interview. And probably taping it as well. "This isn't the only case on my desk, Buffy. It's the most important right now, but not the only one. You'll be safe with the team that my boss picks out for you. No one will no where you are, not even me." He turned and stared at the beautiful blonde waitress. "It's important that we work with you and that you work with us. You know that. So this guy doesn't have the chance to hurt anyone else.

"Fine," Buffy sighed, giving up. She was tired and edgy, too much caffeine and too many nerves combining to make her feel fragile and restless. "I'll go with them, Detective." She couldn't help the hurt that seeped into her tone, unfair as it may be. He was right, she wasn't his only case and she was making it too personal, but dammit, it was personal. How much more personal could it get then to have some sicko kill off your boss in hopes to make you happy?

Angel walked over and squeezed her shoulder. "You're doing the right thing, Buffy. Just relax and I'll get it set up for you now. We can send someone over to your place to pack you some clothes and personal things." He smiled at her and left the room.

* * *

If it was the right thing to do, it certainly didn't feel that way. Her stomach was tied in knots, churning from the coffee and stress. Her temples were throbbing in time to her pulse, making her feel even sicker than before. She pushed the cup aside, crossing her arms on the scarred surface of the table and resting her head on them, closing her eyes against the bright fluorescents.

That was the picture that greeted Angel when he walked in. She seemed so tiny, so defeated in the too bare room. He wanted to sweep her up, carry her away like some knight of old and fix all her problems. But he couldn't, he just couldn't keep an eye on her and work the case at the same time. He needed her safe somewhere, out of sight of the killer, out of harm's way.

Buffy felt him more than heard him come into the room. She lifted her head, working up a tired smile. "Everything ready?"

"It is." He smiled back. "I've got some of the best in the area going to be watching out for you. You'll have someone with you twenty four hours until we round him up." He reached over, taking her elbow and helped her to her feet. "It shouldn't take long and then, when this is over, you can go home and get on with your life."

He stood close, too close, Buffy thought as she inhaled his intriguing scent. She had to fight herself to not turn and press her face in his chest, to ask him to wrap his arms around her, to hold her tightly against him until she could finally feel safe again. Instead, she worked up a smile, weak as it might be, and walked out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

The safe house was a small two story crack house in a part of town she had never thought to be in. It'd been taken in a raid and was used since as one of the five safe houses around the city. It wasn't pretty, at all. It had old siding, a sagging old porch across the front. It felt abandoned in every sense. One of the gutters along the front of the house was missing, two of the windows were covered in plywood. The grass was way over grown, the fence around it needing a serious paint job. Graffitti was covering the walls, tons of rather colorful sayings, words spelled in different ways.

Most of the buildings and houses are the area were covered in the street art. Some were actually quite interesting to look at, and Buffy stared out at it all as they slowly drove through the strange neighborhood. Then again, some of it was done in real bad taste. There were big white letters on the side of a church they passed. Sprayed across its beautiful stained glassed windows were the words "God is dead!"

Buffy was ushered inside the small house, her elbows being held by two plain clothes officers. They took her right up the stairs and left her in a small bedroom. Buffy looked them over as they introduced themselves, telling her the rules that she was to abide by during her stay here. Wesley was the first to introduce himself. He had a British accent. He wore a plain white tee shirt under a leather jacket, and when he would move, that jacket would pull back just enough so she could see the butt of a huge gun in his holster under his arm. He moved about with jerky strides, quickly ... as if he'd been stuffed with more nervous energy than he knew what to do with. Buffy felt tired even being around him. The other man, who introduced himself as Gunn, was quite the opposite. He was African American and seemingly very laid back. His jeans were dark blue, almost looking as if he'd just pulled them off the shelf of some store to throw on. He strutted around the room; his hands busy with the deck of cards that were tattered and ragged, almost as if he used them a lot.

Buffy sank onto the bed after they left, staring out the small window in the room at the house next door. Its shades were drawn, as if it had turned its back on its neighbor, a feeling that Buffy was beginning to understand. Tears crept down her cheeks and she pulled out the small pillow, wrapping it against her stomach as she curled onto the bed.

* * *

Pure joy filled him. That was the only way he could express it to himself. Bufyf had found his present, she had to know how he felt. Buffy Summers. Oh yes, she would be his. He danced around the room in uncharacteristic glee, picking up the big orange cat that had been sleeping in a small square of sunlight. "She'll be here for us," he said to the disgruntled feline. "She'll take care of us, and love us. We'll be a family. Who knows," he said, putting his face up to the cat's, "maybe I'll even get you a girlfriend, too. What do you say?"

The cat dug his nails into the man's arm, determined to make his point that he wasn't happy about being so rudely awaken and then ran from the room when he was unceremoniously dropped. But the man wasn't fazed. He was far too excited.

It had been so easy, all of it. Killing the bitch had been the hardest part. He'd had troubles enjoying her, her older body and ugly colorless hair hadn't been much of a turn on. But he'd managed, closing his eyes and letting images of the others superimpose over her face. But the rest, staging the office, forcing her to write the note, watching the cops, that had been easy and a huge rush to his senses. It was so easy to blend in, so simple to become part of the crowd, to fade from view as others more colorful took the spotlight. He'd had only one moment of fear, when she, when Buffy, had stepped from the police cruiser and scanned the growing crowd.

But her eyes had passed over him as had all the others.

He'd followed her to the police station, even though he had wanted to stay at the scene until the bitch had been brought out. His need to be close to Buffy had won him over though and he'd followed the cruiser, staying far enough back that even the more experienced police officer hadn't noticed him.

She'd been in there forever, making him think that they'd snuck her out a different exit. And they had. If he hadn't gotten out of his car to walk down the block at that exact moment, they could have snuck her past him. But as it was, he saw her, sitting in the back seat of the unmarked car, a privately owned vehicle, he'd bet. He'd tailed them to that ugly little house in that terrible neighborhood. And he'd laughed as he drove by, noting the cocky swagger of one of the cops and the way his eyes had roamed over Buffy's ass as she'd turned away to go into the house. He'd take the cop's eyes out for that. And he'd do it while the cop was still awake, feeling every single inch of pain.

Now he waited. He wanted it later, dinner time. He had a plan. And then she would be his. A thrill shot through him, a pleasure so great that his cock hardened in his pants at the thought of how he would take her tonight. And when the drugs worked, he would strip her naked but for the tiny red lace thong that he'd bought for her. He'd slip that over her skin himself, not allowing his hand the pleasure of actually touching her there, between her legs where that tiny strap of silk would rest.

He would wait until she was awake, and then, that first night would be his again, her standing in the mirror, firm breasts swaying as she moved, her hand imprisoned in that lacy red silk, her fingers stroking her flesh as she dreamed her dreams, staring into the mirror.

His hand slipped over the front of his pants, stroking his firm shaft, the light in his eyes dimming as he remembered the way she had looked in the meager light of the lamp on the dresser. Her hair had gleamed across her shoulders, teasing his eyes with glimpses of her breasts, the tips hard from her caresses. Her body was taut and firm with the sweetness of her youth just turning into the full curves of maturity.

With a gasp, he cut off his memories, giving his cock one last firm stroke and the mental promise of even better things later. It was almost that time. His plan would work and she would be his. He had no doubts. With a grin he reached for the phone and dialed the numbers he knew by heart.

* * *

Buffy was lying back on the bed, her mind a blur of bleak thoughts as she stared at the stained and cracked ceiling. There was a television playing down the stairs in the ancient living room as the detectives sought to amuse themselves during the length of their stay. The two men sat in folding chairs, arguing over the baseball game that was playing on the old black and white TV set that the department had allotted for them. She could hear their voices and supposed that they gave her a tiny bit of comfort. At least they let her know she wasn't alone in this oasis of grime and filth. And cockroaches, she thought with a shiver of disgust, hearing the scurrying patter of their feet against the aged wood of the floor.

Buffy sat up, pulling up her feet to wrap her arms around her knees and stared out the tiny window. Gunn had advised against using any lights, wanting any activity to be in the main part of the house where they were. She couldn't understand it, if she were trying to break in; she'd go to a window that was dark, not one where light shone out. But then again, she wasn't a cop.

With a sigh, she reached out for her purse, dragging the heavy bag over to paw through it looking for the gum that she'd stuffed in there this morning before this whole thing had begun.

* * *

When the knock on the front door came, it startled all of them. Wes and Gunn looked at each other and then at the front door.

"Who is it?" Gunn called out.

"Willy's Pizza," a male voice hollered back. "I gotta a pie out here with the works, ordered and paid for by um ... hang on." They could hear a rustle of paper and Gunn got up and headed to the front door. "A Detective McKenna," the voice continued.

Wesley grinned at that. "Good ole Angel, I knew he wouldn't forget us out here."

"Hold on," Gunn yelled, flipping the locks on the door.

Willy's delivery guy stood just outside, a bright red hat on his head with a small Italian guy throwing pizza crust into the air prominent upon the brim, red and white striped shirt that was grimy and stained with red sauce and flour and jeans. In his hands he held a huge pizza box, on top plates and utensils and a two liter bottle of soda. "Here you go, happy eating my friends."

Welsey got up and came over, taking the food while Gunn reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet.

"No," the delivery guy said. "It's all been taken care of. And it's my pleasure. Enjoy." He turned without another word and walked down the cracked cement pathway, disappearing through the gate.

"Alright. Cool," Gunn said, closing the door and clicking the locks back into place. "Go get Buffy before you stuff yourself," he said to his partner.

"Yeah," Wesley said, laughing, "He shoulda ordered two pizzas. Babysitting's rough work."

Buffy let herself out of the small bedroom she'd been ordered to, skipping down the stairs, and came into the living room. "Walls in this place are paper thin, guys," she said, a slight note of warning in her tone. She'd heard them discussing her this afternoon, in not quite business like ways. It'd been more along the lines of Gunn and what he thought of her ass.

Gunn's face turned red and Wes laughed.

The pizza was sat down on the small coffee table that was missing a leg, held in place by a stack of paperbacks. It wobbled slightly before steadying.

Wes turned to look at her as he opened the box. "Hope you're hungry," he said. Then he noticed the look on her face. It was a look of horror as she stared into the pizza box.

"Fuck!" Gunn yelled, scrabbling backwards and pulling his pistol from its holster. Wes turned, feeling his stomach flop before steadying, a sense of surrealism surrounding him as he stared at the five fingers laid out upon the top of the pizza. Blood had oozed out of the edges of the ragged wounds, making them look as if they'd been ripped off the hand, not cut.

"The pizza guy!" Wes yelled, running to the door and peering out the side window carefully. "It had to be the pizza guy." He reached down for the door, turning to look at Gunn as his hand unsteadily unlocked the door, reaching for the knob and turning it.

"Charles, no don't open the..."

The slamming of the door against the far wall interrupted him, an arm reached in, knocking Gunn's hand that held his pistol up above his head. A shot went off, the slug embedding itself into the ceiling. Suddenly there was a knife in the hand coming in through the door. With infinite precision, he slit Charles Gunn's throat, blood spurting across the room from his carotid artery.

Gunn grabbed at his throat, a sick gurgling sound coming from between his lips. Blood shot through his fingers in time to the beating of his heart as it quickly drained his life from him.

"Charles, God..." Wesley stood up, reaching for his pistol, knocking over the coffee table. "Get in the bedroom," he shouted at Buffy as the door outside remained partly open, the arm gone into the darkness just outside. "Stay in there!" He grabbed his phone, using the wall just outside of the entryway to block anyone's view of him from the doorway. Hitting a speed dial number, he shouted into the phone as soon as it was answered. "This is Detective Welsey Wyndam-Pryce. We have an officer down at safe house three. Perpetrator is still on scene. I need back up, now!" He closed the phone.

With a last gasp, Gunn's head slipped to the side, the wound gaping, blood trickling from where it once spurted. Wes gave his partner one last look and then concentrated upon the job at hand even as he knew he'd never get the look in his partner and friend's glazed eyes out of mind. Sidling close to the wall, he swung around stealthily making his way towards the doorway. Stepping over Gunn's sprawled legs, he slid to the door, peering out the small crack. When he didn't see anything, he slipped his toe into the crack, throwing it open and spinning low.

The sound of glass shattering had him jumping backwards, turning to look at the back of the house. "Fuck me, he's coming in through the kitchen window," he hissed, sprinting towards the back of the house. "Dammit, where's my goddamn back up?"

Wesley slid against the wall of the hall that led to the kitchen, his back flat against it. He held his duty pistol up, pointing it at the ceiling as he took a quick glance into the dark kitchen. A leg and arm were on the window ledge. The asshole was trying to climb in the house!

"Freeze! Don't you move mother fucker!" Wes screamed as he whirled into the room, his gun drawn and pointed at the body in the window.

"Oh trust me," a voice hissed in his ear, a knife pressed to his throat, "he won't be moving a muscle. Look again."

Wes did, cursing himself when he saw the blood that slowly dripped off the arm of the body in the window. He'd have thought hand, but most of it was missing.

"Delivery boys are so stupid. A fake badge and they don't ask any questions. I swear when you people go to the schools to give classes on safety, maybe you should mention that psychos like me can come up with many ingenious ways to get to our next victims." He tapped the knife on Wes's throat, the super sharp blade slicing tiny nicks that stung and filled quickly with blood.

"I'll be sure to tell my captain that, first thing, asshole." Wesley found that he could barely breathe. In his mind, he was saying good bye to his wife, Lilah and their two kids.

"Drop the gun then, like a good boy. We don't have much time and I'd rather not have to spend it fighting with you over the gun."

Wes couldn't see anything of the man except for the red and white shirt he must have taken from the pizza boy. And of course, the faint light glinting off the knife at his throat was a very visible reminder of the situation he was now in. He carefully did as he was told, letting the barrel of the gun swing forward, using the trigger guard to lower it to the floor. He was pulled backwards and away from the weapon towards the bedroom that Buffy Summers was in.

"She's beautiful, isn't she? So young looking, so perfect with that porcelain skin and honey blonde hair. I need to thank you for looking out for her so well for me. Maybe I should write a letter of commendation to your captain?"

"Don't fucking bother," Wes hissed, moving because he had no choice. If he could only stall the man, back up should get here. The officer down call should have them streaking in from all over the city.

"Such rudeness, Detective, when I just wanted to leave a small compliment for such a brave man." He opened the door, pushing Wes through it first.

Buffy was standing by the window, her eyes wide. She couldn't see much of the man, his face hid under the pizza hat. The rest of him was hidden behind the detective. "Oh, God," she whispered, seeing the knife and the trickles of blood that slowly seeped from Wes's throat. "Please," she begged. "Don't hurt him."

"That is completely up to you, Buffy. You come to me and don't make a fuss, I'll knock him out and leave him alive. If not, well, then he'll be as dead as his partner down stairs. It's up to you."

"Don't, Buffy. Don't worry about m..." Wes shut up as the knife jabbed harder into his throat, the cut stinging like a paper cut between the fingers.

"Shut up. All you cops talk too much. We don't have much time, Buffy. You need to make your decision. Come with me and save his life or stay where you are, and some poor woman will be raising her children by herself."

Buffy stared at Wesley, seeing the calm look on his face, a look that said he accepted his fate, determined to see it out like a man would. But she couldn't let that happen. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and took a step forward.

They all three heard it at the same time, a car door slamming outside, voices and the sound of running feet. The man holding Wes turned his head, his hand moving a bare inch from his throat. It gave Wesley just the leverage he needed, and he jammed his elbow back into the man, bringing his other hand up to block the knife and feeling it slide into the skin of his palm.

"Run Buffy," he shouted, throwing his weight back and into the man. "Get the fuck out of here!"

She didn't wait. Buffy raced to the door, feeling fingers slipping through the ponytail she wore, tearing at strands of her hair as he tried to gain purchase on her. Then she was past him, almost falling down the flight of stairs as she ran for the front door.

Seeing the dead body of the man who'd been just talking about her ass a few minutes earlier made her pause, but the sound of the fight upstairs galvanized her, and she jumped over his legs, slipping a little in the pool of blood before catching herself enough to race through the door.

She'd expected police, lots and lots of police to be racing toward the building. She'd expected spot lights and helicopters, news vans, something. But the only car visible besides the delivery boy's was an ancient truck across the streak, four teenagers standing around outside.

Panic struck, tearing talon like claws into her belly, making her feel nauseous and dizzy. Her mind whirled as she tried to figure out what to do, standing in the doorway of the safe house. She heard a footstep on the stairs and a voice calling out to her. "Buffy, you should have come when I told you to, now you have two dead cops on your conscience."

And then she ran, not towards the teenagers, for she knew this maniac would have no problems with killing the boys, but toward the back of the property. There was a hedge there and she ducked under it, wiggling her way through the thick greenery to the back yard of the house behind the one she'd been in. Still running, she cut through a side yard, ducking down an alley way and climbing over a small fence. A dog, his teeth gleaming in the light of the street lamps, jumped out of her from his doghouse, which he'd been tied to, scaring a shriek out of her. She fell to her hands and knees, skinning her palms on some rocks trying to scrabble away from the animal and felt his teeth just nip at the back of her bare calf.

Running was all she could think of, not where she was going or why she didn't stop to ask for help. He'd killed those cops, he would kill anyone who tried to protect her. She had no choice, she had to run.

Stumbling from a dark alley, she blinked, her eyes blinded by the bright lights of town. The section she was in came alive after dark, with neon lights flashing from bar fronts and strip joints. There were people on the streets here, people who stared at her with curiosity, but not a one offered help, even if she would have taken it. A man came up to her, his eyes roaming over the white shirt and black skirt she was still wearing from when she'd gotten ready for work so early, was it only this morning? He reached out his hand, trying to touch her cheek, but she ducked away, turning to run the other way.

"Hey, bitch!" he yelled after her. "I was only trying to be friendly."

Buffy finally took shelter in an alley, ducking down behind a dumpster that was full of trash, hugging her legs with her arms. She was cold and scared. She had no money, no identification and she'd left her purse back in the safe house. She didn't even have her cell phone with her.

And then it began to rain.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Angel McKenna got the call as he was getting ready to leave his office for the evening. He'd been sitting and staring at his murder board. The eyes of those girls, now including the photos of Maggie Walsh, seemed to be staring at him, accusing him of missing something, some integral part of the puzzle that he should know. Some tiny part of the killer's identification that should be right there in front of him if he'd only just reach out and pluck it. And along with those eyes, he could see Buffy's. She'd been so afraid today, clinging to him as her savior and protector. But that was something he couldn't be. All he could do was work the case. For that was what she was, he kept trying to tell himself, part of the case.

But her eyes still were there, land oh, how they pulled at him, making him remember more than just her eyes. Like how she'd looked in the skirt she was wearing the first time he'd seen her. Or how she felt, her skin so soft despite the hard manual labor that she did on a daily basis as he had held her hand in comfort. He wasn't thinking of her like a cop would. That was his whole problem.

He'd turned off the lights in his office, closing the door when the phone began to ring. It had been a close thing, him going back in to answer it. He'd almost turned around and left. But a niggling uncertainty had him opening the door and racing across the dark room to grab the phone. "McKenna," he growled.

"We got an officer down at the safe house where we stashed your waitress, Angel. I think you need to get over there."

He didn't even bother to answer the chief, dropping the phone back into the cradle where it bounced and landed slightly off skew, leaving the sound of the dial tone to buzz dully in the dark. His coat billowed out behind him as he ran for the door, his hand in his pant's pocket, grabbing out his keys.

And then he realized he didn't know which safe house they'd taken her to.

"Knox," he snapped at the sergeant on duty at the desk. "I need to know where the officer down is at. Now man!" he almost shouted.

Knox yelled back the answer, watching as the Detective turned on his heel and raced out the door. "Prick," he muttered under his breath. "Damn detectives have no courtesy for the working stiffs."

Angel hopped into his car, jamming the key in the ignition and turning it over before he even had the car door closed. He slammed the blue bubble light on the dash and with one hand on his horn, the other on the steering wheel, he left black marks on the pavement from his tires as he left the lot.

Traffic wasn't heavy but it seemed to take him forever to get to the house, a forever that had him wondering what he would find when he got there.

The yard was lit up with blue and red lights that revolved and shone off the houses close by to the old house they were in front of. Angel ran to the front door, his heart in his throat as he saw the pool of blood in the front hall. Behind him, an ambulance pulled up, sirens screaming into the night sky. He flashed his badge at the uniform stationed at the front door.

"It's bad, Detective. Two of ours down, though they think Wes just might make it."

Angel nodded, hurrying past the body of the dead detective and taking the stairs two at a time. Wes was in a back bedroom, a uniform holding his hand, another one pressing down on his chest where a long thin wound was bleeding copiously. He was awake though, but his head rolled back and forth against the floor with pain.

Angel fell to his knees on the floor by his head. "Wes, where's Buffy?"

"Oh God, oh God, he killed Gunn, just reached through the door and sliced his throat. And the pizza guy. We thought he was bringing us dinner, that you'd sent him. Fingers, there were fingers on the pizza..." his voice broke off, his eyes slipping closed.

"Wes! Goddamit, you've got to fight this!" Angel yelled grabbing his jaw and watching his eyes pop back open. "Where's Buffy?"

"She ran. I told her to run. Had a knife to my throat, Angel, was going to kill me if she didn't go with him. I told her to run. I told her..."

"Did she run, Wes? Did she get away from him?" Angel looked up as the Emergency techs came in the room, pushing aside the cops. "Wes! Did she get away?!" he shouted.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Through the bushes," was the last that Angel heard as he was pushed out of the way so the techs could do their work.

"The bushes?" he asked the cop on the scene as the man stared down at the blood coating his hand. "Do you know what he meant?"

"There's a huge hedge in the back of this place, I don't know how anyone would get through it, but that could be what he meant."

"Okay, you keep the scene secured, let crime scene in and call the chief."

The uniform looked up from his hands as his partner walked in with a towel from the car. "Where are you going?"

"Our suspect came after his intended victim and she got away. I've got to find her."

Angel ignored the flashing lights of the camera crews who were starting to gather just outside the bright yellow sawhorses that someone had set up. Crime scene tape was already fluttering in the soft wind that was blowing. A crime scene van was pulling up as he reached his car to rifle through the glove box and find his flashlight. He nodded at the man who jumped out, waiting until they were headed inside and under the news camera's scrutiny before heading around the side of the house.

It was dark back there, CS not yet having put up their blindingly bright lights. He clicked on the heavy flashlight as he half ran, half walked toward the huge bank of shrubs, wondering how the hell anyone had gotten through there. He trailed the beam of his light along the bottom of the brush, starting in the far corner and following it until he found it. A bunch of broken branches, the ground disturbed under it, and a tiny fluttering piece of white hanging from a branch, the place that she had managed to wiggle under. He reached out, plucking the white material off of the branch, knowing he wasn't following protocol now, but he didn't give a fuck. There was a girl out there, probably scared, traumatized, maybe even in the hands of a killer and he had to find her.

Angel followed what little trail he could, finding little clues, a place where a heel had made a deep impression in wet soil, another piece of her shirt, drops of blood near a huge Doberman who tried to take his head off. When he came out onto Beacon Street, with its bars and strip clubs, he was almost positive she had gotten away from the suspect.

Now he just had to find her.

Flashing his badge at the people on the street that he asked got him dirty looks and "I didn't see nothing's". Frustrated after an hour of walking and not getting any answers, he finally pulled out a fifty dollar bill. He walked up to an aging hooker, waving the money in front of her eyes. "Look, I'm searching for a young girl, about twenty. She's got long blonde hair and green eyes, about your height. She'd be wearing a white shirt and a black skirt. And she was probably running or scared. Have you seen her?"

"I tell you what I know when you hand over the money, honey. Nothing from this gal ever comes free, sugar." Her long fingers almost plucked the bill out of his hand, stuffing it with the provocative gesture into the scarlet bra she was wearing under the skimpy black halter. "I seen your girl. She run by here and then down that alley up there. I ain't seen hide nor hair of her since, though."

"How long ago?" he asked, turning towards the alley.

"How the fuck should I know? Do I look like a watch?" The hooker turned with a dismissive little wave of her hand and started trolling for Johns once more.

Angel broke into a trot, his heart racing. What would he find down that alley? He could only pray that she would be alive and whole and waiting for him there.

* * *

Buffy huddled in her little corner of the dark, hugging her knees and trying to pretend she was invisible. She tried desperately to work up the bravery to come out of her hiding place. She tried to convince herself she was safe. She'd been back here forever, he had to give up looking for her sometime.

She'd heard footsteps a couple of times and once a light had been shone down the dark alley, almost touching on her hiding place, but she curled down into a ball, closing her eyes until the footsteps had gone away.

Where was Angel? He had to know by now that something terrible had happened. If Welsey had survived ... but that was impossible. She'd heard that strange, eerie voice calling her name as he had come down the stairs. If he had still been alive, he wouldn't have left her alone.

Her teeth were chattering, her back and butt felt numb from the cold cement of the alley. She couldn't stop shivering. She was miserable, scared and more alone than she'd ever been in her life.

"Buffy?"

She heard his voice but for a moment she thought she was dreaming and couldn't answer. Did she only just want him here so badly that now she was imagining him being there?

"Buffy? Are you down there, sweetheart?" Angel's voice came again.

"Y-Yes," she croaked, trying to get to her feet. But her legs were asleep and she fell backwards, smashing into a set of metal trash cans, knocking them over with a loud crash.

His feet made echoing slapping noises on the concrete and then he was there, reaching down to pick her up and wrap her in his arms. Angel held her close, feeling her shiver and lean against him, her arms coming up to wrap around his back. "Oh God," he breathed into her hair. "I didn't know where you were. I thought he'd gotten you."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, tears that soaked into his coat as she held him tight. "He almost did," she whispered.

Looking up, she met his worried blue gaze. "Wh-what about Wes and Gunn?" she asked.

"They're saying that Wes might make it. Gunn didn't," he answered her truthfully, pushing her hair from out of her face. He could see the guilt in her expression and shook his head. "No, Buffy, don't you even think to blame this on yourself. You didn't ask for this guy to chase you nor did you do anything to provoke it. Sociopaths have their own laws and rules of right and wrong in life, that's what makes them as dangerous as they are. It is not your fault what he does, okay?"

"I shouldn't have run," she said, her hands digging into the fabric of his coat. "I should have stayed and..."

"Died, Buffy. That is what would have happened to you. Or worse, you could have been taken by this lunatic. Come on, sweetheart, you did the only thing you possibly could at the time. And you probably saved Wes' life in the process."

"I did?" she asked, shaking her head. "How could I have saved his life?"

"Because the killer was focused on getting to you. He didn't take the time to kill him, just incapacitate him. Because you ran, he left Wes alive until we could get there." He felt her shivering and stripped out of his jacket, wrapping the big garment around her shoulders even as she clung to him. "We've got to get you warm."

"No more police," she begged. "No more safe houses, please. Can't I just stay with you? Please?"

He closed his eyes, knowing he was asking for trouble by even considering this. But she felt so wonderful in his arms and his body seemed almost to sag in relief at knowing she was safe, he couldn't refuse her. "Come on," he said, pulling his coat closer around her.

* * *

Angel left his car at the safe house, taking a cab back to his place. One of the officers at the scene would drive it back to the station.

Angel lived in a first floor apartment of a brownstone house. His apartment consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, living and kitchen area and a very tiny room that had once been intended as a breakfast nook that he used as his office.

Buffy couldn't help but look around when she walked in, wondering how a man like Angel McKenna lived. It was cop messy. Coffee cups in the sink, newspaper on the couch and a huge plasma television on the wall. Mail was piled on a small breakfast bar and dust was layered on everything.

"Sorry for the mess, I haven't been home much recently to clean," he said, swiping up the newspapers and giving her a place to sit. "Make yourself at home," he said excusing himself to go to the phone. He dialed the number for the precinct, speaking quietly into the phone for a few minutes and watching her out of the corner of his eye. She had that shocky type look that most victims had when he first saw them, the look that said 'How the hell did this happen to me?' It would change, he knew. Some broke down and cried, others got angry. He thought that Buffy would probably be in the latter group.

* * *

"Yeah, Captain, she's staying with me. No, it's taken care of. I got another bedroom she can use and this way I can stay close to her." He paused and listened to the captain bluster. "Yeah, cap, I can still do my job, she'll have to just get use to the precinct when I need to be there."

He watched as she stood, still huddling in his coat that was huge on her slender frame. She walked over to the wall where he'd kept a few pictures, one of his parents, one of his brother and sister, a couple of friends. She stared at them as if they contained the meaning of life and would only give up their secret if she kept her eyes fixed upon them.

Hanging up the phone, he went over to her. "That's my sister, Dawn. She's the baby in the family and still lives with mom and dad. That's Connor. He's a private investigator and lives in Texas now. He keeps trying to get me into going into the business with him."

Buffy stared up at him as he continued speaking, telling her about the pictures in a calm voice. She knew what he was doing and it warmed her heart, making the world seem more normal than it had seemed in the past few hours. Her hand reached out, grabbing a hold of his shirt.

Angel stared down at her small hand tangled in the fabric of his shirt and then back into her eyes. They seemed almost too big for her small face now, her pupils slightly dilated as she dealt with the shock of what happened to her. He held open his arms and she went into them, burying her face in his neck and holding on to him as if he were her only lifeline in a world gone mad. "It's okay, Buffy. You're safe now. He can't get to you here."

"You said that before, that I would be safe with them, with Wes and Gunn. And now he-Gunn is dead and Wes is hurt."

"Yeah," he agreed ruefully. "I don't know how he found out where you were, Buffy. Nobody but the captain, Wes and Gunn knew where you were going to be. I can't figure out how he knew unless he followed you somehow."

She lifted her head, tears shining on her lashes, tears he hadn't even known she was shedding. "Could he have followed me here?"

Angel shook his head. "I don't believe so. But the doors are locked and I'm not letting anyone in. We're going to spend the night here then go into the precinct in the morning. Then we'll figure out where we're going to go from there." He brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle hand, twining his fingers into the soft strands and carefully pulling out a few tangles.

Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat, felt her heart start racing as she stared up at him. He was so handsome and he felt so good against her. His tender touch suddenly seemed not quite so innocent and it sent a thrill streaking through her. Her lips parted, her tongue slipping between to moisten them, watching as his eyes narrowed at that innocent gesture.

He didn't know when this comforting and caring hug had changed, but his body picked up the difference, his blood heating as he gazed into her eyes. He could feel the twin mounds of her breasts pressing against his chest, the slender curve of her hips against his own. Her lips were but a short distance from his, softly parted as if waiting for his own. He couldn't seem to stop himself, wanting just that tiny taste of her, that little piece that would remind them that they were both still alive, and now they were together. His head bent, his lips drawing closer. He saw her eyes follow his mouth, closing just as he reached her soft lips. He could feel her heated breath on his mouth, hear the soft moan she gave as his lips reached hers.

The sudden vibration in her pocket startled her enough that she jerked backwards. "Oh," she gasped, reaching into the pocket of his coat and pulling out his cell phone just as it vibrated one more time. Without a word, she handed it to him, turning away and going back to the sofa. Picking up one of the throw pillows, she clutched it to her, watching as he flipped open the phone and checked the caller id.

"McKenna," he growled, upset at both the interruption and the fact that he almost kissed her. "Yeah, just throw them on my desk. I'll pick them up in the morning. Yeah, thanks." He snapped the phone closed and quietly blew out a long drawn breath. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "That shouldn't have happened."

Buffy didn't know if she was more upset by the interruption or by his apology. For her, what had almost happened had been magical. She'd never known an attraction like the one she had for Angel. And it prompted her to do something she never would have done before. "Why?" she asked.

"Why?" he asked. "Why what?"

"Why shouldn't that have happened?"

"Buffy, you're a witness to a series of crimes now, and also in protective custody. Not to mention that you've been through a highly emotional and scary ordeal. It would be wrong of me to take advantage of that or you now, in the state you're in."

She stared up at him, her green eyes haunted not only by the memories of the death she'd seen, but by the loss of the one thing that she had craved. His kiss.

"Would you like to take a shower?" he asked her, unable to stand her silence. She was so different from the bouncy girl he'd met just days before. She'd gone through so much since then and now he was denying her simple human contact. But he had to, he had to do the job.

"Yeah," she said, standing and dropping the pillow back on the couch. "I don't have any clothes, or a brush or even a tooth brush. I couldn't even grab my purse when I ran," she tried to hide the small sob that threatened to erupt but knew he'd heard it when he lifted his hand, stroking it down her hair.

"I'm sure that I've got something you can wear and I have an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet." He dropped his hand and turned toward his room, open the doors to both rooms to let her see inside as he went. He rummaged in a dresser, pulling out a tee shirt with the University of Michigan emblem across the front of it and then a pair of sweat pants. Opening another drawer, he pulled out a pair of white socks. "I can't do anything about underwear," he said, feeling his face heat up with a blush. "These might be big, but they're clean and warm." He showed her where the towels were and got her a toothbrush. "If you need anything, I'll be right out there," he said, pointing toward the kitchen. "I'm going to whip us up some dinner. It should be ready by the time you are done." Then he turned, leaving her alone in the bathroom, still holding the clothing he'd given her and with the toothbrush in one hand, staring after him with those haunted eyes.

* * *

Angel had managed to throw together an omelet, popping the bread down in the toaster when he heard the water in the bathroom turn off. His eyes kept going to the bathroom door and he couldn't seem to settle, almost jumping out of his skin when the toaster popped behind him. He turned, buttering the toast and setting in a couple more slices of bread.

"Can I help?" she asked him quietly.

Angel yelped, turning to look down at her. He watched as a small smile bloomed on her face, quickly fading. "You're quiet," he said, holding one hand to his heart.

I'm sorry," she said, that smile flashing again. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to know if you needed any help."

"Nope, it's all set but for a couple slices of toast. Why don't you grab the juice out of the fridge and poor us a couple glasses and I'll get this on the table?"

She did as he asked, setting the glasses on the breakfast bar in the space he'd cleared and climbing on one of the stools. He placed her plate in front of her, his eyes roaming over the picture she made in his too big clothing, with her hair up in a towel.

"You look all of five years old playing dress up," he said. "I hope you like eggs. It's about the only thing I can make with any degree of efficiency."

"I do," she said, looking down at her plate. He saw her hesitate and then a look of determination come across her face. She picked up the fork, carefully slicing a forkful of egg and putting it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed before looking back at him. "It's good," she said.

"You need something hot in you," he said, taking the seat next to her and digging into his food.

They ate without speaking, Buffy finishing every bite on her plate before putting her fork down, letting her hand rest against her stomach. "I was afraid to eat. I was afraid I'd see those things again, the things he did to those people."

"I know," he said quietly. "I had the same problem. But you'll be surprised how much easier it is to deal with when you've a full stomach and a clean body."

"I do feel better. Thank you for this, and for finding me. And for everything. I don't know if I'd be alive right now if it wasn't for you."

"It's my job, Buffy." He sighed. "Now for the hard part. We have to discuss what happened tonight. I need to know, Buffy." He turned in the small stool, facing her. "And the sooner we get it done, the more you're likely to remember."

She took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "I'll try."

"Good girl. Okay, how about we take it over to the sofa." He leaned over and grabbed her still almost full glass of juice and carried it over, setting it on a small stand.

Buffy walked over, curling her feet up under her as she sat down, grabbing that same throw pillow and clutching it once more to her stomach. "Okay," she said, nodding at him.

He got out his mini recorder, setting it next to her juice. And then he took her through the evening, his hand somehow coming to rest on top of hers when he got to the part where they found the fingers on the pizza, squeezing gently when she told how they'd sent her back to the bedroom right before Gunn was killed. And then he laced his fingers through hers, his thumb brushing back and forth across her hand when she told him of running, of how he'd nearly caught her as she pried her way through the bushes, of the dog that had grabbed at her ankle and thankfully missed.

He took her through it carefully twice, making sure to go back through things that she wasn't sure of. "What did he look like?" he asked finally, cupping her hand between both of his.

"He's taller than me. He had on jeans and the red and white striped shirt from the pizza place. He was wearing a hat and he had it pulled down so it covered his face a bit." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I just didn't get a good look at him. He had Wes there in front of him when he came into the bedroom and then everything happened so damn fast, I didn't get a good look. I'm sorry, Angel." Her head tipped down and she watched as he squeezed her hand gently.

"It's okay," he said, letting go of her hand and turning off the recorder. "You did great."

"But it's not enough. It's not enough to catch him with." She clutched the pillow harder, burying her face in it.

"I think it's enough for tonight. Look, it's getting late and you've had a really rotten day. Why don't we get you set up in the guest room and let you sleep. Tomorrow, we'll go down to the precinct and go through some mug shots, maybe you can pick him out." He rose and took her hand, pulling her up with him.

"I'm not going to be safe anywhere until you catch him," she whispered, closing her eyes. She felt his arms go around her and savored the forbidden feel of him against her. Her hands rose, grabbing onto his shirt.

Angel rubbed her back, letting himself take two minutes to feel the warmth and smoothness of the skin under his tee shirt. Her breasts pressed against his chest, soft and unfettered, making him swallow a moan at the thought of her naked under his shirt. His hands wanted desperately to investigate, wondering if she were naked under his sweats also, but he kept them above her waist by strength of will alone. "I'll keep you safe, Buffy. He'll have to go through me to get to you. I'm not easy to get through."

Her head was on his shoulder, her nose snuggled into his neck. He was warm and strong and hard under her hands and against her body. And she believed him, he wouldn't let anything happen to her without a fight. She'd have to trust him.

But oh, how she wished she were sleeping in his bed tonight, with him. How she wished that he would hold her in his strong arms, that he would make love to her and get rid of these images in her head.

"Okay," she whispered. She pushed back from him, trying to smile but not succeeding very well. Goodnight, then," she said, going to the room he'd given her and turning on the light before slowly closing the door behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

He watched her from across the room, his eyes noting every intricate detail of her from the way her hair caressed her shoulders to the sparkle in the depths of her eyes. The red dress she wore caressed her body with scarlet silk, a tiny bit of lace slipping over her arm. It followed her curves with the faithfulness of a lover's hand, hinting of the sweet ripeness of her nipples through the translucent fabric. He saw her as she swayed with the music that played in the air around them, seeing her lips move as she sang along. She smiled at him, her fingers waggling in front of her as she backed away, beckoning him, daring him to come with her.

Pressing through the crowd was difficult for they seemed to be determined to keep him away from her, blocking his path whichever way he turned. He finally pushed past them, his eyes scanning the room, searching for her once more. He saw her on the staircase, watching as she slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders, seeing it pool in a waterfall of scarlet silk around her slender waist baring her breasts to his avid gaze.

"Come, Angel," she moaned, her hands slowly sliding from the smooth skin of her taut stomach up and over her ribs and finally cupping the soft curves of her breasts, kneading them gently. "Come make love to me," she called to him, rolling her hard nipples between her fingers, her lips parting as she whimpered her pleasure.

He took the steps two at a time, anxious to reach her, wanting to touch her, to kiss those lips, to make love to her. His cock was hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans, his hands itched to touch her, to mold her body to his, to feel her wetness surrounding him.

She backed away from his slowly, her eyes on his, her hands out to him, beckoning him. She smiled seductively at him, backing into a bedroom finally allowing him close enough to touch her. His hands grasped her waist, hauling her to him, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that scorched his soul, firing his desire. Her lips were warm and soft, her mouth hot with the darkness of passion. She tasted of sweetness and sin, a combination that had him pulling her even closer.

"Fuck me, Angel," she whispered against his lips, her voice a siren's song of lust and need. "I want you inside of me."

His hands found the silk that covered the rounded curve of her ass, pulling it up until he could feel the soft flesh beneath. He tilted her hips, pressing her into his groin, letting her feel the hard bulge that pulsed with the rapid beating of his heart. Spinning her around, he pushed her against the wall, leaning his weight into her.

"More, baby," she whimpered as he ground his jean covered cock into the lacy red silk that covered her mound. "I want more."

He lifted her, her long slender legs wrapping around his waist. Reaching between them, he yanked on the tiny thong that barely protected her wet cunt, hearing her gasp as it dug into her flesh before the delicate material ripped, leaving her bare. And then his hand was at his own pants, tearing at the button and zipper, feeling her hands as they helped him push his jeans and the soft white shorts that he wore under them, down his thighs.

His cock sprang out, slapping against her taut belly. He lifted her further, settling her so that she was just above the fat head of it and he could feel the swollen lips of her pussy, the heat of her brushing his skin. "You want that?" he asked her, his voice a harsh growl of lust. "You want me to shove that into you?" He lowered her slightly, feeling his cock push between wet lips into a heat that was almost unbearably sensual.

"Yes," she moaned. "Please, fuck me."

His mouth was on her throat, his teeth nipping hard at the soft skin there, using his tongue to lave at the spot and then sucking upon it as she moaned and whimpered, wriggling against him. He pushed into her, amazed at her tightness, at how wet and hot she was, his hands finding her ass and holding her even as she tried to take more of him. "You're so tight," he moaned, his mouth at her ear. "You're so fucking tight and hot, Buffy." And then he let loose of her, letting her drop until he filled her with his last few inches, pressing through tightly muscled depths as she cried out her pleasure, her nails digging into his shirt covered back, her head falling back against the wall.

He pressed her into the wall, his body thrusting against her with a fury born of lust and forbidden pleasures. Every stroke left him wanting more and knowing that it wouldn't be enough. Every friction filled thrust pulled him closer to the ecstasy he knew she would give him.

She clung to him; he could feel her hands on his back. He knew she was close as well for her whimperings had turned to moans and begging pleadings for more. Her eyes were tightly closed, her mouth open clinging to his when he kissed her.

And then he heard her scream and his eyes flew open.

Angel found that was alone in his bed. "Buffy?" he said softly.

Muffled running steps came from across the hall and then his door was flung open. "He's after me, Angel," she cried, flinging herself against him.

"Who's after you, Buffy?" He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the tremors of her body against him. "Who?" he said, pulling her back a ways until he could see into her face.

"The killer," she moaned. "He was there with a knife. He's trying to kill me like he did the others." She wrapped herself around him again.

"Where? Come on, you've got to tell me where?"

"In my room," she whimpered. "He was there, in the corner. He had a knife. All I could see were his eyes and the knife."

Angel pushed her off of him gently, going to the side of the bed and reaching for a pair of sweats. He stood to pull them on over his naked body, hearing her gasp as she saw him in the dim light. Grabbing his duty weapon off the stand, he flicked off the safety. "Stay here," he ordered her.

"No, I'm going with you."

"I don't have time to argue with you. Stay here," he said again, this time with more emphasis.

His bare feet were silent on the carpeted floor and he peered through the crack of his door, checking out the hallway before opening the door. He crossed the hallway, peering intently into the blackness of her room, searching for the shadows. Slipping his hand inside, he found the light switch and flipped it, bathing the room in light. Nothing. Going through with the search, he checked the bed and the closet, checked the single window and found it locked still, just as it was when he'd checked them earlier. But to make Buffy and himself feel better, he did a quick search of the entire apartment. Nothing was disturbed, all the doors and windows were locked. He slipped the safety back on his pistol as he walked back into his bedroom. She'd curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slowly as she stared at the door, waiting for him. As soon as he came in, she rose from the bed, almost running to him.

"Did you find him?" she asked.

"No, there's no one here but us, Buffy. I've checked the entire apartment and didn't find anything." He put his hand on her shoulder, feeling the tremors that were still making her body shake. "You were dreaming, Buffy. And it's perfectly normal after the day you've had. If you didn't have bad dreams I'd be worried."

"But it was so real. He was standing there, he was staring at me and flashing that kn-knife around." She shook her head, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"You should get back to bed, Buffy," Angel said, his eyes traveling over the length of her. She'd taken off the sweats before going to bed and was now only wearing his tee shirt and the thick white socks. Her legs were long despite her short stature and tan, leanly muscled. His tee shirt reached about mid thigh leaving a long expanse of tawny skin to admire. And the shirt, an old one that had been washed many times, was soft, molding to her slender body, emphasizing her lush curves. It clung to the curve of her breasts, rounding over the tiny bumps made by her distended nipples.

She glanced up at him, then at the door of his bedroom. Her stomach was in knots, her fear a palpable thing that she couldn't ignore. The palms of her hands were sweating, and she wiped them on his shirt, pulling down on the fabric as she did.

Angel groaned, staring at the soft curves of her breasts. They could have been naked for all the cover that his shirt gave them.

"I'm scared," Buffy said, startling him enough that his eyes left her body and he gazed at her face. "I'm scared," she said again. "And it's pissing me off. I've never been a whiny girl who needs a man to get her out of trouble before. I can't believe I'm acting the way I am now. But just the thought of going back to that bedroom and climbing into that bed has me almost frozen with fear."

"It's good to be mad. And it's good to be afraid." He reached out and snagged a lock of her hair that had fallen into her face. He played with it for a moment, sliding the silken tress through his fingers before hooking it behind her ear. "You're being scared means that you'll be cautious. That's a very good thing right now."

"But I hate it. I feel like I'll never be safe again." She angrily swiped at her cheek where a single tear had fallen. "I hate crying, I hate being afraid, and I hate running away. And right now, I'm doing all three." She brushed at her cheek again, sniffling.

"Come here," he ordered her. He pulled her against his naked chest, savoring the way she felt, so soft and warm. "Tell you what, if you can promise to keep your hands off of me, you can share my bed the rest of the night. But I gotta have your word, no hinky stuff. I'm saving myself for my wedding night." He smiled as she snorted, laughing as he'd hoped she would.

"I think I can refrain," she said, smiling at him.

"I don't know," he said squinting his eyes as he stared down at her. "I'm a pretty hot ticket. Maybe I should have you sign something."

"Next you'll want it in blood," she smirked up at him.

He squeezed her, almost groaning at the way her breasts felt against his chest but managing to swallow it at the last moment. "Come on, you get the right side."

"But I always sleep on the left side," she complained good naturedly.

"Then put your head down at the foot of the bed," he quipped, smiling.

* * *

The knife slipped between the window frame and the lock easily, and with a quick jiggle, it popped free. It opened almost as easily, sliding silently up on its plastic track. The man slipped his mask over his face, slid the knife back into its leather sheath that he wore on his belt. He picked up his small roll bag that contained his kit and shimmied his way through the window and into the apartment. The bedroom was empty, but he could see signs that it had been occupied. The bed was mussed and a towel was draped over the back of a chair.

He carefully made it around the room, cautious of the furniture and any squeaking floor boards he might come across. It only takes one small sound to ruin the hunt and startle the prey. His blood was rushing through his veins, pumped by the too fast beat of his heart.

This was part of the rush, the thrill of his craft. Making his way in, being there when they were in the next room or even in the same room. It was the naughty factor, as he liked to think of it. He was being bad.

He went to the door, pressing his ear up against the wooden portal, listening for signs that someone was awake. It remained almost devastatingly quiet except for the ticking of a clock somewhere in the house and the drip of a faucet. Reaching out with one gloved hand, he slowly turned the knob of the door, pulling it open. A quick look up and down the hall revealed that so far he was alone. He stepped over to the other door, turning the knob silently and pushing it open slowly.

Two heads were on the pillows in the bed. He could see both very well despite the blackness of the room. He would have to be quick and silent, hopefully grabbing one and killing the other before either could raise the alarm or put up a fight. The zipper of his kit seemed almost unnaturally loud as he pulled it open, grabbing out a small zip lock baggie that held a white cloth. The cloth had been soaked in a form of chloroform and he was cautious not to breathe in the fumes as he pulled it out of the protective plastic.

Kill one, slap the rag across the other's mouth and nose. It was that easy, and that difficult. He had to kill the first immediately and preferably without blood spurting all over. Not that he usually minded the blood, but he hadn't brought a change of clothing and he didn't want anyone looking at him suspiciously or drag blood all over his apartment.

Now, which was which? He moved silently to the side of the bed and smiled. They were so close that this should actually be easier.

Pulling the knife, he leaned over the entwined figures on the bed. With one quick jab that went straight between two ribs and into the heart of his intended victim, that part was done. The body gave a quick jerk but his knife had done its work admirably, the wound bleeding very little and the girl hadn't even waked up.

He pulled the knife free, wiping the bloody blade on the sheets of the bed before replacing it in its sheath. Reaching over the dead body, he covered the other girl's face and nose, seeing her eyes open wide in shocked fear and then she fought, violently for a moment before slumping into unconsciousness.

It had been almost too easy, he thought, replacing the cloth in its baggie and then back into its kit. Easy was great, but it also made him nervous. When things were this easy, they were always likely to go snafu later. But for now, he still had work to do. Reaching back into his kit, he pulled out the roll of duct tape, wrapping the sleeping girl tightly around the ankles and wrists, putting one piece over her mouth and another over her eyes. That would be how she woke, he thought with glee. Blind and mute in a dark room, unable to move, it would be utterly devastating. He rubbed his hands together at the thought.

But first he had to get her out of here and into his car which he'd parked at the end of the alley.

Picking her up, he slung her weight across his shoulder, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over her so it covered her completely. And then he made his way across the room, following his tracks. Getting them both out the window was a feat of dexterity, and he didn't know quite how he managed it, but he did.

He jogged his way back up the alley, opening his trunk and settling his cargo inside. Stopping to check her breathing, for he didn't want her dead, but nor did he want her to wake up on the trip to his place, he was happy to find her still deeply out. He slammed the lid closed, took off the mask and settled it in its customary place in his kit. Reaching in the back seat of his car, he pulled on a jacket, grabbed a baseball cap and then got into his car and started the engine.

He was smiling as he drove down the deserted streets, humming to the music on the radio. His heart was light, his mind rushing as he went over the details of his plans. Someone had quoted something once, something that had caught his attention at the time. What was it? Oh, yeah. The devil is in the details. He really liked that quote, for the devil was in the details with what he planned to do.

His cock stirred as he thought of his plan and of his captive. This one would be so much better than the last, the one that had done nothing but cry and whine, even while he strangled her. Her cunt had been loose and sloppy, just like her body with its rolls and sags. It almost made him sick, to think that he'd actually fucked that. But it had been for a purpose and now he was being rewarded.

He thought of her as she'd been in that bed, under those bedclothes. She'd been wearing nothing but a tee shirt which had hiked up around her waist, leaving the soft down of her sex bare to his avid gaze. Her thighs had looked creamy smooth, slightly parted, giving him just a glimpse of the sweet pink folds between.

His hand stroked over the bulge that grew under the material of his pants, slowly squeezing the hard shaft that felt like steel. He couldn't wait for her to wake up, to find herself manacled to his chair, his to play with. The zipper made little noise as he pulled it down, reaching inside his pants to free his cock from the restrictions of the material. With a small groan, he started stroking the bare flesh, the early secretions of silky clear liquid lubricating his hand as he thought of what he would do to her.

By the time he pulled into the driveway of his house, his cock was swollen and pulsating, his balls tight up against his body as the urge to come was almost overwhelming. But he wouldn't allow himself to do it here. No, he wouldn't waste a single drop of his spunk when he had a new toy to play with. He pulled into the garage, hitting the button to send the heavy metal door back down, blocking out all sight of his precious cargo. Opening his car door, he got out, his cock still hard and bobbing as he walked around to the trunk.

She was awake when he opened the trunk lid. He could tell though her eyes were taped shut. She might have pretended to be asleep but her head turned towards the sound of the trunk being opened.

"Hello my pretty," he said in a squeaky falsetto voice. "I told you I'd get you, and your little dog, too." He trailed it off, cackling wildly. His hand touched her cheek, feeling her jerk away. He reached down, grabbing hold of the bottom of the tee shirt she wore, pulling it up until he could once more see the hair covered mound of her sex, his fingers sifting through those sparse curls before tickling the thick lips between, even while she squirmed and wriggled, muffled moans and pleas coming from behind her taped mouth. "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature," he said, his voice deepening. He pushed into her sex, feeling the dry, tight folds that tried to keep him out. He pushed harder, first one finger and then two, into her vaginal channel, his nails scraping against the velvety walls, uncaring if he hurt her, ignoring her pleas and cries of pain. "Get used to it," he hissed, moving closer to her so she could hear every word, a small stringing line of spittle escaping his mouth to drip down upon her. "You're here until I want to get rid of you, bitch, and no one will be able to find you. No one will know where you are, or hear your screams. No one will know when I tire of you and decide to kill you. No one will be able to find your body. You'll rot alone, out in some field where the insects and the animals can get at you until you're nothing but bones."

He lifted her into a sitting position, taking his hand from between her legs. Her shoulders were shaking and he knew she was crying even if he couldn't see the tears. Holding her hair in one hand, he moved her face closer to his heavily throbbing cock, rubbing the veined shaft against her soft cheeks and into the silken mass of her hair. "Mm," he moaned. "You feel good. Just remember, the longer you keep me interested, the longer you live." He laughed as he heard her sob again, reaching down to grab his cock, slapping it against her face, before jerking on it. He came, ropy strands of pearly come jetting from the tip of his cock and bathing her in its heat. She flinched at each splash of fluid, her head shaking as if she wanted to deny what was happening to her.

When he was finished, he cleaned his cock on the front of her tee shirt before tucking it back into his pants. And then he reached down, lifting her easily, throwing her over his shoulder once more and took her into his house.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

"We've got another missing persons, Cap. Another girl. But this one came with a bonus."

"What do you mean, a bonus," the captain said, leaning back in his chair and staring at Detective Lindsey McDonald.

"Our guy wasn't just happy with taking one girl. He had to kill someone too."

Buffy looked up from where she was sitting at an empty desk in the bull pen, a stack of mug shot books in front of her. Her heart began to race. Had he given up? Was he moving on and going to leave her alone? Oh God, what a selfish thought to have, that she'd be glad he was moving on to other girls and forgetting about her.

"Did you get names?"

"Yeah, the missing girl is," Lindsey flipped through his notebook, squinting a little to read his own writing. "Here it is. Tara Maclay, age 23, she's a waitress."

Now it was the captain's turn to look up as Buffy gasped in horror. "Tara?"

The captain rose from behind his desk, going out the open doorway and into the bull pen to the desk where she sat. He took the chair that was bolted down next to the desk. "Do you know her?"

"I-I worked ... work with her. We're friends. Oh God, you said someone died with her. It wasn't Willow, was it?"

Lindsey looked at his notes again. "Yes, I'm sorry. It was."

"They were lovers," Buffy whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Tara wanted to marry her." She looked up at the Captain with horror filled eyes. "It's because of me, he took her to get to me."

Lindsey went to the water cooler that sat just inside the door, filling a cup and bringing it back to Buffy. He knelt next to her, holding out the water. "No, Miss Summers. It's because of him, not you."

She gave a hoarse laugh as she took the cup. "Do they train you guys to say that stuff at cop school?"

He laughed. "Yeah, it's a pretty standard line. But it's also true. This is on him, it doesn't have a thing to do with you or what you did or want."

"So how are you going to find her?" Buffy asked, setting the cup down next to the last book she'd gone through. "He's not in any of these," she said, waving her hand at the large stack of books.

"Miss Summers, we have people out there searching clues. We have them hunting down the ribbon, finding stores where it could be purchased. We have them doing a house to house at every crime scene. I've got my best detectives on this case. We'll find him. You just have to give us a chance."

"Will you find him before he kills Tara?" she asked softly.

The captain shut his eyes. "We hope so, Miss Summers. We can only hope and pray so."

* * *

Tara's eyes fluttered open, feeling gummy and sticky, her eyes burning in the bright lights of the room. She tried to lift her hand to rub them and felt a knife blade like pain in her arm. Looking down, she could see she was tied, big plastic zip ties digging cruelly into her wrists and ankles. She still wore the tee shirt she'd put on last night after her and Willow had made up from their latest fight. But it was pulled up, almost to her waist, leaving the bottom half of her open and vulnerable. Her eyes flashed around the room, desperate to see if she recognized anything that would tell her where she was, or maybe a friend who would suddenly yell out "Surprise!" and then release her from this horrid nightmare she was in. But there was nothing, only cement walls and white linoleum. She couldn't turn her head, so she had no idea what or who was behind her.

His voice had her head craning, trying to see over the back of the chair she was tied to, to see him.

"It's about time you woke up. I was beginning to think you didn't like our little playtime in the garage."

Oh God, the garage, the man who'd come on her. She'd thought that to be a dream.

"Ah, I see you're remembering now. It was much fun for me, killing always makes me horny," he said, his voice breaking out in yipping chuckles. "But now we have to work. We have to make you pretty for the pictures I want to take. They are for your public you know," he said, coming up beside her.

Tara looked up, almost afraid to see his face, to look into the face of a monster that could do what he'd done tonight. It was almost anticlimactic. He was so normal looking.

"Not what you expected?" he asked her, his smile widening. "I never am," he sighed. "You all expect someone who looks like a skuzzy killer type. Don't you remember Ted Bundy? The man was going to college; they talked of his running for a political seat. He was the clean cut all American boy next door who just happened to enjoy fucking dead girls."

Tara shuddered turning her face away. She felt his fingers on her jaw, turning her back around.

"Now let's not be rude. You should always make eye contact when speaking to someone. It's only polite. Besides, we have to clean you up. You can't have your picture taken looking the way you do now." He held her face still, using a rag to wipe off the dried ejaculate that coated her face, rubbing hard until she whimpered with the pain of it. Then he pulled a brush from his back pocket, pulling her hair forward to brush it gently, getting rid of all the snarls until it flowed like dark silk across her shoulders. "So pretty," he murmured, his eyes going a little hazy as he stared down at her. "So sweet, and soft." He reached into the front pocket of his pants, pulling out the long red ribbon, smoothing the wrinkles out of the bright material. Holding her hair gently in one fist, he threaded the ribbon under it, pulling it up and dropping her hair over the top. Then he carefully tied the bow, fussing with the ends until it sat the way he wished, slipping it over until it lay just above her left ear. "Almost perfect," he said, as if speaking just to himself. He turned away, walking behind her and she heard the clink of metal against metal.

Tara watched the corner of her chair, seeking out the dark form of his shadow, waiting for him to come back to her. What would he do next?

She screamed as he walked around the chair, for in his hands was the knife, still with a slightly pink tinge on the metal from Willow's blood.

* * *

Buffy was still sitting at the desk when the envelope arrived. Next to her elbow were wrappers from the hamburger that Angel had brought back for her. An untouched chocolate shake sat next to it. She'd managed to eat the hamburger, through sheer will, she'd eaten every bite while he watched, knowing if she didn't eat he'd worry. And she wanted his mind on the case.

She watched as the uniform carried in the envelope, a large manila square, and took it to Angel's office, handing it to him. He took it, glancing curiously at the address, his gaze sharpening before he looked up at her. His eyes met hers and she knew. That envelope had something to do with her. He took the envelope, his eyes scanning the heavy black writing done in thick marker. It was made out to Buffy Summers in care of Detective Angel McKenna, no address or post mark. "Who gave this to you?" he asked the officer who delivered it.

"It was on the front desk. I was passing the sergeant on duty and he asked me to drop it off for you."

"Okay, thanks," Angel said, dismissing the man. He reached into the top drawer of his desk, picking out a pair of latex gloves and sliding his hand into them. The flap on the back wasn't sealed, it was taped down and he carefully ran his finger under it, pulling the tape free. They weren't going to get DNA from their killer from this. He tipped the envelope, dropping the contents on the desk in front of him. There were a dozen or so pictures, a piece of red material, and a note that was printed on computer paper. Using a pen, he pushed the pictures around until he could see them better.

He heard her gasp before he knew she was in the room. Without looking up, he set the envelope on top of the pictures, covering them from her eyes before he got up and went to her, closing his outside door.

Buffy stood there, the pictures burned into her mind, every horrid image, every grotesque thing done, running over and over like a slide show in her head. "That's Tara," she croaked, looking up at Angel. "He's ... He's..." she couldn't finish the sentence, feeling suddenly light headed.

"Shh," Angel said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his arms. "You shouldn't have seen those." He pulled her closer, silently berating himself for not closing his door before he opened the envelope.

"Is she dead?"

Angel let his head rest against her hair, breathing a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I don't think so. He's taunting us with the knowledge that he has her and we don't know where he is." He pulled back, lifting her chin. "It's another mind game, Buffy. It's another way to get to you. You can't let him though, because if you do, then he wins."

"It's not a mind game to her," she said shivering. "It's very real to her. I need to see those pictures."

Angel sighed heavily. The last thing in this world he wanted was to let her see those pictures. "It's not a good idea," he said at last.

She jerked out of his arms, pushing him back. "She's my friend and he took her because of me! I want to see those pictures!"

"Buffy, whoa, hold on sweetheart." He took a hold of her arms. "Calm down and I'll show you." He reached in his desk, grabbing another pair of gloves. "These will probably be too big for you, but put them on anyway." He waited until she did, and then sat her down in a chair across from his desk. Picking up the pictures, he left two or three of the worst under the manila envelope, laying the others out. He watched her face as she looked at the picture, saw shock and horror, anger and then finally, acceptance cross her expression.

Buffy picked up one of the pictures, Tara, naked, her legs spread and tied to the chair, her wrists tied to the arms of the chair. She had a piece of tape across her mouth and tears gleamed wetly on her cheeks. Grasped in one hand was a small sign, hand written with the same kind of writing that was on the envelope. The words tore at Buffy's heart as much as the pictures. They were a message to her. "Help me, Buffy," was written in bold block letters. And around her hair was a bright red ribbon, tied in a big floppy bow above her ear.

"How can you say this isn't my fault?" she asked him, tossing the picture back on the desk. "How can you after seeing these? You should have just left me out in that alley. Than maybe Tara would still be safe and Willow would still be alive." She took the gloves off her hands angrily; throwing them into the trash can next to his desk.

"I know how easy it would be to blame yourself, Buffy. But you can't."

"Sure I can," she said bitterly. "He's making it very easy for me to blame myself and hate myself for what he's doing." She looked up into his eyes. "What do we do? How can we save her?"

"We don't do anything. I will find him, Buffy. It's my job and I'm damn good at it. But you've got to let me do it, you've got to stay calm and let me handle things."

"What about my roommates? What about Nina and Eve? Are they safe?" she asked him, her hand going to her throat as she thought of her roommates.

"Yeah, actually Nina left and went home for the duration and Eve is staying with her new boyfriend. They are both safe. Eve has a tail every time they leave his apartment, so don't worry about them. Did you see anyone that looked familiar in any of the mug books?"

"No, nothing. I've been wracking my brain trying to remember something, anything about how he looked that might help, but all I see is the look of death on Wes' face." She closed her eyes, rubbing at them tiredly. Even after she climbed into his bed last night, she hadn't been able to sleep, lying stiffly next to him, their bodies close but not touching. She'd felt him roll to his side, his back to her and stared at the width of his shoulders, the darkness of his hair on the white pillowcase. He was so close, but still so far away. It had been as the sun rose in the sky before she'd finally been able to close her eyes, rolling in her sleep until she was pressed up against his back, her arm slipping over his waist to rest against his skin. His hand had crept down, his fingers twining with hers, his thumb brushing against her soft skin.

When his alarm had gone off, they'd both jumped away from each other, Buffy rubbing her eyes with her fist like a small child, yawning hugely. They'd gotten dressed, fixing coffee and toast in almost silence, both too aware of the other to say much. And then they'd come here, where he'd sat her down in front of those books, a lousy cup of coffee at her elbow. She'd searched every face that might have come close to what she thought he looked like, searching for something that would tell her that this was him. But none of them had seemed right. Either they were too tall, too short or their eyes were the wrong color. She could remember his eyes, they were so strange, so weird.

"I'm going to get the security tapes and see if we can find out who delivered this envelope," Angel said, standing to crouch down next to her. "Whoever did it will be on tape and maybe we can finally get a picture of this guy."

"Okay. What do you want me to do?" she asked quietly, her hands twisting in her lap.

"Well," he said, a slight smile curving his lips. "First of all, you can try to calm down a little."

"That's easy for you to say," she shot back at him, though she did manage a small smile.

He reached out and tugged on a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "When we get this guy locked up, would you have dinner with me?" he asked suddenly, surprising her. Him too.

"You mean you aren't tired of me yet?"

"Actually, except for the fact that you're in protective custody, you are the most enjoyable thing in my day."

Buffy felt a small part of her melt and a tiny sigh escaped her lips. "I'd love to have a regular dinner type date with you, Angel McKenna, where we didn't have to think about killers or kidnapping."

He laughed. "I promise," he said, crossing his hand over his chest, "no killers, no kidnappings, just you and me and candlelight."

"I like the way that sounds."

His hand rested against her cheek, still encased in its latex glove. It brought him out of the thoughts of romance and back to reality. "I do too, but for now, I have to take this and show it to the captain and then take them to the lab, plus see about getting the video from the front desk." He rose and walked back around the desk. "If you'd like, I can see about getting someone to run you back to my apartment and stay with you there."

Buffy felt a thrill of panic settle in her stomach, making her feel as if she would throw up the hamburger she'd managed to eat earlier. Her face turned pale at the thought of being away from him. "No," she said quickly, her hands grabbing on to the arms of the chair she was sitting in.

"I'm not deserting you. If you want to go back there, I'll have someone inside with you, and a car out side watching the building. You'll be protected." He watched as her eyes closed and she swallowed convulsively. "I won't put you in danger. You might try to wiggle out of our date if I do," he said, trying to make her smile.

"I'm fine out there," she said quickly though she did try to smile for him. "There's an old paperback romance novel someone left. It's looks tempting so I thought I'd read. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, honey. And if you get tired, there's a couch in here and one in the captain's office that I don't think he'd mind you using. I'll be in and out the rest of this afternoon, but I'll come and get you when it's time to go home." He opened the door to his office and watched her make her way back through the maze of desks to the empty one. Worry, anger, and a strong need to protect her warred in his heart for supremacy. And another worry niggled at his mind. Was he becoming too close? Was he losing the detachment he needed to do the job right on this case because of his growing feelings for this girl?

With a sigh, he lifted the envelope, staring at the red fabric. There were blood stains on it. But whose? And the pictures, those he'd shown Buffy and those he hadn't, the ones he hadn't taken priority. Their killer had spelled out his wishes in those cards held by Tara. The first was the one that he'd allowed Buffy to see, the card simply saying "Help Me, Buffy." But from there it got bad. The cards told of the things the killer would do if Buffy wasn't left for him to retrieve. It told of torture and promised that Tara would be made to pay more everyday that she wasn't given to him. The final card told of how many days Tara would be kept alive before her dead body would be delivered to an undisclosed spot, somewhere they would be sure to stumble upon her of course.

He picked up the note, opening it carefully. It was a love note of sorts, addressed to Buffy. It also gave directions of where she was to be left for the killer to retrieve, in a sort of ransom drop where Tara would be left and Buffy would be taken.

No way, he thought, getting angrier with ever picture, every syrupy love sick word written. No way would he let this animal get his hands on her.

He gathered them up, sliding it all back in the envelope and walked out of his office to the captain's, managing to send a smile toward Buffy before closing the captain's door and getting to work.

* * *

Buffy watched as Angel left the captain's office, throwing another smile her way as he left the bull pen. She yawned, glancing back down at the book she held open in her hands. She'd read the same page four times but she still couldn't have told you what it said. Her mind wasn't on reading. And if she drank any more of the coffee available, she might end up sick. The stuff was strong enough to take rust off of metal, it certainly was eating at her stomach lining. Getting up, she wandered to the door of the bull pen, glancing back as she felt eyes on her. Lindsey smiled her way, watching her even as he spoke on the phone.

She walked out of the room, hearing the slide of chair against the linoleum as the detective ended his call quickly and followed her out to the hallway.

"Buffy?" he called, seeing her turn toward him.

"I have to use the bathroom. Should I have informed you before I left?" she asked sarcastically.

"Angel ... he is just worried about you. You can't fault him for that."

She sighed, feeling her frustration ebb somewhat. "I don't. I'm just not used to being so inactive or having someone else tell me what to do with my life. I don't even have my purse or my phone." She threw her hands up in the air. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't take this out on you. You are all being so wonderful towards me. I guess I'm worried about Tara."

"It's perfectly understandable. I do have some good news for you. Wes is out of ICU and they expect him to make a full recovery."

"That's wonderful," she said. And it was, it was one less thing to have on her conscience. "Listen, I'm going to use the rest room and then get a bottle of water. The coffee in there, well..."

"It sucks, trust me, I know. Go ahead, I'll wait for you here," he said, his tone of voice brooking no arguments.

* * *

Buffy sighed, realizing she was getting a guard no matter if she wanted him or not. But at least he didn't go into the bathroom with her. She went in, used the facilities and then washed her hands, staring at herself in the mirror above the sink. How could someone like Angel want to ask her out? Her eyes were red, dark shadows and bags under them making her look haggard. She had no make up. Her skin was pale and her hair looked as if it hadn't been brushed in days. She tried to smooth it with her hands, but it didn't do much good. All she could so was rinse her face with cold water and then run her wet hands over her hair, hoping it would smooth it down. Then she left the bathroom. Lindsey was leaning against the wall across from the door, a icy cold bottle of water in his hand. He handed it to her and then took her elbow, escorting her back into the bull pen. He winked at her as she sat in her chair, picking up her book once more to pretend to read.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

Angel walked into the bull pen tired and cranky and more than a little frustrated. He'd spent most of the day at the lab chasing down results and calling film manufacturers. He did have one piece of information, the store where their killer bought his film. Luckily the manufacturer had a lot number printed upon each package and on the film inside. The lot number could be put into a computer and that gave him the information he needed. The only thing was, he already knew the man shopped at the store, for that is where Buffy had first ran into him.

He needed to update the murder board and he needed to call the lab and see if the blood tests done on the scrap of material were back. He looked over at the empty desk before going to his office and was surprised to see that Buffy wasn't there. Neither was McDonald, he thought, staring over at Lindsey's desk. Where had the two of them run off to? She had better not have worked her wiles on him, gotten him to take her somewhere where she could do something stupid, like be out in public. Damn it!

Still fuming, he opened his office door and walked in, reaching out and snapping on the lights. He walked the few steps to his desk, sat down and picked up his phone and then sat there, staring at his couch and the small figure curled up in a ball upon it.

Buffy looked so tiny, so fragile, asleep with her lashes lying like fragile wings against her pale cheeks. She had to be exhausted to be able to sleep so easily on that lumpy thing. He stood, shedding his coat and taking it over, covering her with it. He watched as she murmured and snuggled into the warmth of the material, smiling in her dreams as her hand smoothed across the fabric. She brought her legs up a little more, the skirt she'd put back on today rising along the line of her creamy thighs. Crouching next to her, he carefully pulled a strand of hair from her face, smoothing it away from her brow.

She was so beautiful. He couldn't help but think that and about how much he would like to kiss her lush lips, hold her in his arms, make love with her. His dreams last night had made that pretty clear to him. After she'd climbed in bed with him, he'd been hard pressed not to roll over and kiss her, especially knowing that she wouldn't be adverse to his advances.

But he hadn't, turning to his side to try and ease the temptation she represented. He'd faked sleep, listening for any sounds that would indicate someone breaking into the house. And then she'd fallen to sleep and turned, curling up against his back. He thought his heart would burst from his chest when her small hand had slipped over his side and slid to his chest, her fingers caressing his skin. To stop them, he'd grabbed her hand, and then found himself holding it, finally falling asleep with her behind him.

He must have made some sound because she stirred, her eyes opening, blinking with the sleepy wonder of first waking. She stretched under his coat, smiling up at him. "Hi," she said, yawning widely.

"Hi yourself. I was wondering where you'd gotten to. I thought maybe you'd managed to con Linds into taking you someplace."

"No, and it wasn't from the lack of trying." She sat up still cuddling his jacket. "So have you found out anything new?"

"Well, we know the store where he got the film."

"Bushes, on Third Street? I'm right, aren't I?" Her hand reached out and grabbed his arm. "Why can't we go there? Let me see if I can spot him?"

"It might come to that. But not tonight. We're both tired and hungry. And I feel like my brain's fried. I think a good dinner and an early night will do both of us a world of good." He patted her hand, letting his rest upon hers. "I do have some good news for you. I rescued your bag and your purse from the lab. They're in my trunk."

She smiled at that news. Just the thought of clean underwear and her own brush helped to make her feel good, until she thought about Tara again.

Angel saw her smile and then saw the instant she started thinking of her friend as the smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

"I feel so guilty," she said, sighing and sitting back on the couch. "I'm free, and safe, and poor Tara is in the hands of that monster. Who knows what he's doing to her now?"

He slipped up to sit next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "You can't let yourself think that way. You've got to be strong for her and for you."

"It's just hard thinking any other way," she said, standing and handing him back his coat. "Were you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I just got to outline to the captain what I found out today and then I'll be ready. Should only take a few minutes so don't go getting to comfortable on me." He rose and took his jacket, slipping it back over his broad shoulders. He picked up the files he'd brought in with him and left for the captain's office.

Buffy slumped back on the couch, her mind on her friend. What was that monster doing to her?

* * *

The wet cloth felt wonderful against her cheeks. Tara opened her eyes, staring at the man holding it.

"You need a good cleaning, little girl," he said, rinsing out the wash cloth in the small pan of hot soapy water he'd brought down stairs with him. "And then something to eat. I don't know how long you'll be my guest but you might as well be comfortable doing it."

Tara didn't answer, though he'd already removed the heavy gag he'd had buckled over her mouth. She felt a sting on her wrist as the warm cloth moved over the open cuts there, cuts made by the heavy zip ties that bound her to the chair she sat in.

"Those look painful. Hold on for a moment, sweet one, let me see if we can make you more comfortable."

She heard him moving behind her, the clanking of metal against metal, a drawer being opened and shut heavily and then the soft sound of his feet as he approached her again. "Now, you and I have to come to an agreement. If we can, then I'll let you get up out of that chair, and you can even be allowed some freedom while I'm not around. If not, they I'll put the gag back I and you can stay right where you are until your arms and legs become infected from the cuts. Which is it to be?"

"I-I'll be-behave," she said, her voice hoarse from screaming and the horrid taste of the leather gag he'd thrust into her mouth.

"Good girl," he said, patting her on top of the head as he would a dog or a small child. Then he brought his other hand from behind his back and she saw the strip of leather he held. "This is a collar, it will be attached to a chain. You won't be able to take it off of your neck but it will allow you some freedom and you'll be able to get up and walk around." He slipped it around her neck, clasping it with a small gold lock. "But, if you at any time give me any grief, it'll be back in the chair with you and you won't enjoy the punishment."

"I understand," she murmured, her eyes downcast.

"Wonderful!" he said, smiling.

She felt a painful scraping tug on her wrists as he cut through each of the ties, whisking away the broken pieces into a small bin. He let her move her arms and legs a bit, getting the blood to flow in them again before he brought forth a small medical kit that was well supplied with bandages and salves. She let him clean and bandage her wounds, feeling oddly grateful to him for that small favor. He'd been brutal to her earlier, he'd forced himself upon her, using his fingers first to push into her dry sex, finally thrusting his body into her. He'd called her names that she'd never imagined being called before. He'd slapped her, leaving red hand prints on her body, taking pictures of them while insane giggles escaped from between his lips. The slaps had hurt, the rape had been demeaning, but those giggles had been terrifying.

Opening the door to a plastic cell, he pushed her gently inside. "This I was saving for your friend, but since she isn't here and you are, you might as well break it in for her." He pushed her down on the small cot, forcing her to sit in front of him while he reached for her breast.

She wanted badly to push his hand away but she was afraid. If she did, what would he do?

He played with her for a while, seeing her cringe, hearing her soft sobs of pain and embarrassment. "I want you to suck me," he said to her, finally.

"W-what?"

"I want you to suck my cock and make me come. If you do that, well than I'll let you sleep the rest of the night in peace. If not, well then I'll need someplace else to get off in." He slipped his hand down between her thighs, feeling the wetness from his rape of her earlier still coating her slick little lips.

"I'll suck you," she said quickly, staring up at him. "Please, I hurt down there. Let me suck you off instead?"

He stood in front of her, his hands on his hips. "Then get to it, and do it right. No biting if you don't want to lose all your teeth."

Tara tried to close her mind from her actions, closing her eyes as she reached out to undo his pants. She pulled him out, opening her mouth, feeling the foulness of him slide inside. With a sob, she tried to control her gag reflex, knowing that if she couldn't and vomited on him, he'd probably hurt her worse than she could imagine.

* * *

Buffy stood up from the small stool, taking her plate to the kitchen sink and rinsing it off before stacking it with the rest of them in the small dishwasher.

"You don't need to do that," Angel said, watching her. She'd been moving non stop since they'd gotten back to his place, as if she were to sit still too long, her thoughts might catch up with her and bury her.

"I don't mind. Besides, it's the least I can do considering the fact that you're feeding me and putting me up." She reached under the sink and found the small box of dish soap, shaking the power into the right cup and closing it before coming to take his plate. "Finished?"

"Yeah, thanks." He let her finish the dishes because she seemed so determined too, but when she started straightening the piles of magazines and picking up things around his apartment, he had to stop her. "Buffy, stop. You're doing just so you don't think. Come on, sweetheart, come over here and sit with me." She went, sinking down on the sofa to curl up her legs under her. He picked up the remote, switching channels on the huge TV until he found something he thought she might like, a light hearted comedy that didn't call for thinking to follow the plotline.

* * *

Buffy watched the show, but she couldn't have told you what she watched, her mind was racing over everything that had happened the past few days. Her brain seemed to be working in circles, not allowing her to light on one thing, to dissect it the way that she wanted too. When her eyes closed and she fell asleep, she couldn't have told you, all she knew was suddenly she was alone in his apartment, the television still on.

Buffy sat up, rubbing her eyes. "A-Angel?" she called, hearing her voice echo eerily in the empty apartment. "Angel!"

She got up, her legs feeling like they had cement blocks holding them down, every step was an effort. It seemed to take forever for her to check every room, finally ending in his bedroom. He was there, standing by the closet, his body naked from the waist up as it had been last night. He turned as she came in, holding his arms out to her.

KShe rushed to them, almost crying in her relief. "Where did you go? Why didn't you tell me you were going to bed?"

He lifted her chin with his finger, touching his mouth lightly to hers. "Shush, love."

"Wha..." she began only to be stopped by his mouth.

It was hot and wet, the kiss changing, his tongue finding hers, caressing and claiming her mouth until she could barely breath. She moaned, finding her bottom lip captured between his teeth as he nibbled upon it like it was a succulent treat to be savored. Then his lips moved to her jaw, roaming over her neck, pulling the blouse she wore away from her skin to capture even more of her skin. He picked her up, laying her on his bed as if she were the most fragile of china dolls, his fingers seeming to magical dispense with her blouse and skirt, unhooking the tiny white lace bra she wore and pulling it from her arms, leaving her naked but for the matching panties. He stared at her, at the picture she made with her honey hair and creamy skin against his dark blue comforter.

"You are so beautiful," he groaned, dropping down next to her on the bed

His hands reached for her, hard and intoxicatingly gentle upon her skin, pulling her to him and rolling with her. Her hair wrapped around them, seeming to cocoon them in a layer of silk, drawing them into a world of their own where only pleasure and desire remained. He found the soft red tip of her breast with his mouth, pulling on it with his teeth and tongue, swirling heat around that peak until it hardened and she whimpered beneath him.

He moved lower then, despite her urgings to kiss her, his hands pushing her thighs together then pulling her panties off her body, leaving her naked to his eyes. Holding her that way with her thighs pressed together, the steamy heat of her pink cunt hidden by the light curls that covered her sex. His tongue explored the line where her thigh met her body, making her squirm and cry out, begging him to love her. He rose and yanked down his sweats, pushing her thighs apart.

She knew he was looking at her, seeing her most intimate flesh exposed to his eyes. She was wet, almost desperately so, needing him to fill her, to make her feel things other than the fear and the worry that had become such a huge part of her life. "Please," she called to him, watching as his eyes traveled her body. "Please fuck me!" she begged.

She could see his cock, hard and throbbing, beautiful in its aroused state. She wanted to touch it, to kiss it, to take him in her mouth and make him feel all the things that she did. She wanted to give him pleasure, more than anything else in this world, right now, she wanted that. But as she watched, he turned from her, pulling his sweats up over his erection. He walked towards the door, while she lay in the bed, staring at him in confusion. "Wait," she called. "Angel, wait. Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I'd love to fuck you, you know that. But you aren't for me."

She sat up in the bed, her arm covering her naked breasts. "What do you mean, I'm not for you?"

Angel pulled open the door, stepping back as a shadowed figure entered the room. "You're for him," he said. And then he screamed in pain as the figure stepped by him, slashing a knife across his throat.

Buffy watched in shocked horror as Angel clutched at his throat, seeing the accusations in his eyes as he silently blamed her for his death. She tried to scramble back in the bed, to crawl off the other side, but it was as if she were frozen. She could do nothing but wait while death stalked her, death in the form of the killer.

"Did you really think you'd get away from me so easily? Don't you know that I will do anything to get to you; I'll kill anyone that gets between us. Angel, other detectives ... your friends, Tara, Nina, Eve ... no one is safe until you come to me."

"Why?" she cried. "Why me?"

He laughed, a horrid, ugly sound. "Because I can and because I want you. You'd never even look at me if you saw me out in public. You couldn't even remember my face after bumping into me. I'm nothing to you, less than nothing. But now, you'll remember me. My face will be the last one you see on this Earth." He stepped towards her, reaching out his hand to slide it over her body, stopping to play with her nipples before sliding down toward the soft pink flesh between her thighs.

"No," she cried, shaking her head. "No, don't touch me."

"You're mine, Buffy. Mine to do with as I please and what I please is to fuck you, right now. I want you screaming, I want your voice in my ears when I push inside of you. I want to hear your pain." He dropped his hands from her body, reaching for his pants, ignoring the blood that smeared on them. They dropped to the floor, and she saw his cock for the first time, hard and full, and straining to reach her. His hand reached out, grasping her shoulder, his other hand was on his cock, and she could feel it brush against her softness, ready to rip into it. "Are you ready for me, Buffy? Buffy?" he asked again, shaking her.

* * *

"Buffy? Wake up, Buffy? God, love, wake up!" He wrapped his arms around her when she flailed at him

"He's here!" she screamed into his shoulder. "He's here! He killed you," she said, finally calming down enough to quit screaming. "He killed you and was going to rape me," she sobbed.

"Shh," Angel said, stroking her hair as she clung to him. He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt and it tore him apart. "It was just a dream, love. It was only a dream."

"But, it seemed so real. He seemed so real. He said that he could do anything he wanted with me, because I ignored him the first time we met." She grabbed a hold of his shirt, unable to force herself to let him loose, needing the feel of his hard body against hers.

"It was just a dream," Angel repeated. "They can seem pretty real, sweetheart."

"This one was," she finally pushed back far enough to wipe her eyes with her sleeves. "Oh, I got your shirt soaked," she said, reaching out to wipe at the wet spot on his shoulder.

"It's okay, it washes." He reached up and wiped away a stray tear. "Wanna tell me about the dream?"

Buffy could feel the blush that heated her face. How could she tell him she was dreaming a wonderful dream of making love with him until the killer came in and turned the dream so dark? "No, I'd rather forget about it," she said finally. "It was just a dream and it didn't mean anything."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:

She lay beside him that night, staring thoughtfully at the curve of his back as he faced away from her. There hadn't been any talk of separate rooms, both of them feeling the bubble of fear that surrounded them.

Buffy had tried to sleep, but every time she would close her eyes, she saw the knife and his eyes, those stranger's eyes that looked so normal but hinted at the dark evil that lived inside of him. Maybe it was the way she saw the knife, the reflection of his eyes in the silvery shine of the blade, that made him seem so evil. Or maybe it was just that he was. She also kept thinking of Tara, still in his grasp, tortured, raped, mourning the loss of her lover. That is, if she even knew that Willow had been killed. But how could she not, not when they'd been in the same bed together when he'd stuck the knife in her chest. It had been quick, which was a blessing but one that would offer little solace to Tara when they got her back.

If they got her back.

"I can hear you thinking from here," Angel said.

"I'm sorry," she answered him, turning on her side to face his back.

"It's okay. My mind doesn't want to shut down either. I keep thinking there should be something I should be doing, some where I should be." He rolled over, pulling the covers up a little so that they covered the band of his sweats.

She looked so young, lying there in the dim light that came in the window from the street lights outside. Her hair was loose, falling like a satiny waterfall to the pillow under her head. She wore a tank top that clung to her curves and a loose pair of pajama pants that were held up by a thin tie. And all he could think of was that dream he'd had, of her giving herself to him. It wasn't conducive to sleep, especially when every time he closed his eyes, he saw her standing at the top of the stairs in that red dress, her hands cupping her breasts, teasing him with the look in her eyes.

"Would it help to talk over the case? Maybe I can help somehow?"

"I was hoping that getting away from it for a few hours, sort of clearing my mind would help." He ran his hand over his hair and the scrubbed it across the rough whiskers that were starting on his chin.

"But having me here means you can't really get away from it." Buffy felt a tug at her heart, like disappointment. But what did she have to be disappointed over? Just the fact that she found this man so attractive, stubble, mussed hair and all, and he seemed to think of her as a kid and a case, why should she be disappointed over that?

"No, that's not what I mean. You're great to have around. You help with the work, you don't complain and to be honest you make some of the most interesting sounds when you sleep. Not quite a snore, no, more like a grunt." He laughed and ducked back when she reached out to slap him, grabbing her hand and holding it against the smooth contours of his chest without thinking.

"That's not very nice," she said, though she smiled as he meant her too. "I don't snore or grunt."

"Then there must have been a pig in here sleeping with me last night," he said, his hand rubbing gently against the back of hers.

"Well," she said, feeling a little breathless. "You're the cop..." she said, letting the sentence trail off and seeing his grin.

"Nice," he said. "Put me right in my place, didn't you?"

"You started it," she quipped back at him, her fingers flexing reflexively under his.

"Oh, yeah, uh," he said, realizing that he still held her hand. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She watched his eyes, seeing the look in them as he stared down at her. The silence between them grew, stretching thin until she could barely stand it. "Well, we should get some sleep," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed, though he didn't turn away or close his eyes.

Buffy felt the blush that started to heat her cheeks. The way he was staring at her, intense, heated, like he wanted to eat her whole, had her body feeling as if it would go up in flames. "Good night, Angel," she managed to whisper, turning on her back, her head facing the other side of the room.

She could feel his eyes on her even after she felt the bed move as he got comfortable. She forced her eyes to close, letting her lashes rest lightly against her cheeks, and made herself breathe slowly, rolling away from him to her side, as if she were asleep. It didn't take long before she felt the bed move once more, barely resisting the urge to jump as his arm wrapped around her, his hand resting gently against her stomach. His chest pressed up against her back, her head tucked just under his chin. She turned her head, looking up at him.

He was grinning, definitely not sorry. "You weren't sleeping, and I wasn't sleeping. I just thought this might make us both more comfortable."

"Are you?" she asked, without thinking.

He flexed the hand that he held at her waist, sliding it up and over the hand she had just inches from her breast, enclosing her hand in his huge one. "Mmm, yes, I enjoy holding you," he admitted unabashedly. "You're a nice armful." His chocolate eyes sparkled, giving him a boyish look. She could feel his naked chest pressed warmly against her, her ass cradled against his hips. It sent a flicker of heat through her, just the awareness of how close she was, how warm he was, how very male.

"Glad I can help then," she quipped, hearing his chuckle as he pressed her head back down.

"Go to sleep, Buffy."

And amazingly, she did.

* * *

Tara's cries were so hoarse, her throat raw. Pain racked her body, shooting from her ankles and wrists and from between her thighs where he'd forced himself into her, not once, but twice, his body slamming against her. She could only be thankful he wasn't built like some of the men she'd met who would have had her ripped open and bleeding as roughly as his fucking her had been.

He'd played with her body, enjoying her cries and the marks he made on her body with his hand and his teeth. And all the while, he played with that stupid red ribbon.

She was going to die, Tara knew it. She also knew Willow was dead, a fact that the pervert had been happy to impart to her the moment he grabbed her hips, pushing into her painfully dry and tight body the first time. He'd whispered to her, telling her the details of how he'd plunged the knife into her lover's chest, killing her before she even woke. The pain of his rape had seemed minimal compared to the pain of knowing that the woman she loved was dead. But now she could only be grateful that he'd made it quick, not raping and torturing Willow as he was doing to her.

He'd also told her how many days she had left to live, as if that mattered much to her now that Will was gone. He'd just told her how many days she had left to deal with the torture and the pain before she could be gone from her, a blessing really. Because knowing was always so much better than not. Then he'd left her, after taking his blasted pictures, some with her legs splayed wide, and showing the trails of bloody semen coming from her. She'd hated those photos, knowing that people would be seeing the most intimate and grisly details of his abuse.

But he was gone now, leaving her to cry out the pain of her rape and Willow's death. He hadn't gagged her again, nor had he blindfolded her. Instead, he turned off the lights at the top of the steps, leaving her in the almost complete blackness of the basement. But as the darkness had grown familiar, she'd noted a small line of light at the top of the steps and two little pin point red dots that spoke of something electrical across the way. She held onto that little bit of light, using it during the hours that he was gone to keep herself from going mad in this strange place. She had no concept of time, only of pain and of her breathing, concentrating on her breathing when the pain became too much to handle, focusing on each breath and any tiny bit of odor she might pick up. Sometime during those hours, she'd turned from thoughts of death, of making it easy for him, and thought instead, of revenge and how she would get free somehow, and then...

She heard a tiny click at the top of the stairs, her eyes darting toward the thin line of light. Shadowed impressions blocked part of it, feet of someone standing on the other side of the door. Was she being rescued or... That hope died as the door opened and he came back down the stairs, smiling that same horribly insipid smile. In his hands he held a small white bag bearing the name of some fast food restaurant.

"I picked you up a sandwich and a coke. I hope you don't mind regular, I can't stand the smell of diet anything," he said, almost as if she were nothing more than a guest in his house.

Her stomach rumbled in response to the smells coming from the bag, though she hadn't felt hunger. She hated the thought that he heard it, and that she knew she would eat the food he'd gotten for her, using it to conserve her energy so that the moment she was free from this chair she would have enough strength to shove his knife straight through his crotch.

"Well," he said, waiting for her to speak. "Do you mind regular?"

"N-no," she said hoarsely.

His smile was wide, as if she'd just given him the most special type of gift. He quickly tore the wrapper off the straw, poking it through the plastic lid on the paper cup and putting it to her lips. She drank as if it were the last thing she ever was going to get. As far as she knew, it might be. But it was wet and wonderful, soothing her throat and easing the ugly hunger pangs. When he took it away, she surprised them both. "Thank you," she said, meaning it.

"You're welcome," he said after a moment's stunned silence. He turned away, his hands shaking a little as he unwrapped the hamburger he had gotten for her. Holding it to her lips, he stared down into her ravaged features, watching as she took a bite and then winced as the hot meat juices stung the cut on the side of her mouth.

Tara didn't complain though, instead, she chewed and swallowed. "It's good, thanks. I was hungry."

He nodded, holding the sandwich up so that she could get another bite. When she'd finished, he gave her some more of the coke and then wiped her face with a wet cloth that he'd gotten from what had to be a sink, behind her.

"I-I n-need to use the restroom," she said when he'd finished, hoping he would release her from the chair.

He turned and picked up an old bedpan, smiling at the disappointed look on her face. "You didn't think I'd release you, did you?"

"I hoped you would," she answered honestly. "These ties are really hurting me."

He sat the pan down, coming closer and kneeling in front of her. His hands went to the wounds around her ankles, pressing into them and listening as she hissed in pain. He trailed his fingers over the dried blood and the fresh that dripped from the angry cuts, lifting his hand and licking the red stuff from his fingers.

Tara forced herself to be calm, not allowing the disgust she felt to show in her face. He seemed to respond to politeness, so she'd be polite. She wouldn't rile him, not if she could help it. She would do what he told her if it would get her one step closer to being able to meet her revenge. She would get even for what he'd done to WIllow, no matter what the cost to herself.

He smiled slowly, loving the taste of her blood, licking his thick lips suggestively. He saw her flinch, even if she thought she hid it from him. He knew he disgusted her, no matter what words she said. But it could be fun to play her game, as long as he was always one step ahead of her. "Okay, my dear," he said slowly, dropping his hand to her naked thigh and sliding it up while he watched her eyes. He grasped her hip in his hand, wrenching her forward, enjoying her cry of pain. "You pleasure me, and I'll see to ridding you of the ties."

"You can fuck me whenever you like," she ground out between teeth clenched in pain. "You are the one in charge here."

"You watch too many movies, Tara. You really do. That 'you're in charge' crap don't hold water in the real world." He laughed, seeing the look in her eyes before she covered it by bowing her head. "Now, I'm going to stand up in front of you, Tara, and you are going to open your mouth, slowly." He leaned forward, lifting her chin and staring into her eyes. "If you even think of biting me," he said, his hands dropping to her naked breasts, grasping her nipples in his fingers and twisting cruelly. "I'll pop these little beauties off like they're beer caps. Do you understand?" He twisted them again.

"Yes!" she screeched as the pain became unbearable.

"Good girl," he said, releasing her now red nipples and planting little kisses on the tips of each. "All better," he whispered, like a mother kissing a boo boo on a child. Then he rose and she could see the thick bulge that lay under the thin material of his slacks. She watched as he undid them, letting them fall to his ankles. Then he grabbed the waistband of his underwear, yanking them down to his knees, his erect shaft springing forward. "Open up, sweetie," he said, his hips thrusting forward, his hand stroking eagerly over his red, swollen cock.

Tara did what she was told, closing her eyes before licking her lips and slowly opening her mouth.

* * *

A low moan could be heard, the sound of pleasure, not of pain. Buffy blinked sleepily, and then moaned again as the hand cupping her naked breast gently squeezed, long fingers rolling her taut nipple to even greater hardness. "A-Angel?"

Her tank top was up, over her breasts, baring their ripe loveliness to his eyes and hands. He lay behind her still, his body pressed intimately against hers, only the fabric of his sweats and her pajama's coming between them. His lips pressed against the nape of her neck, hot and searing, following that tender curve around until his hand came up, turning her head to find her lips. He kissed her with desperate need, his tongue making deep forays into her mouth, inciting her passions to an even greater scale than before until she was panting, turning in his arms, holding him. His weight pressed her into the mattress, flattening her plump breasts into his chest, groaning at the exquisite sensation of her sweet hard nipples.

She tore her mouth from him, trying frantically to catch her breath. But his lips moved, traveling down her throat, scalding her skin with his heat. He lapped at her collarbone, his tongue sending shivering rivers of pleasure that pulsed in her depths, making her squirm under his hands, her fingers digging into the skin of his back. He was her only stability in a dreamy world of passion gone mad with urgent lust.

"Oh fuck," she hissed when his mouth found her nipple, his hand capturing her other breast, squeezing the firm globe, teasing her other nipple. "Ahhh, God, Angel," she cried, digging her fingers into his hair, her legs wrapping around his back, holding on to him. He pushed the tank top up further, ripping it off over her head and throwing it to the floor. Her pajama pants were next, his fingers fumbling with the ties before stripping them off of her body, leaving her clad in only a pale blue pair of silk panties, inset with lace across the low cut front, the sides held up by tiny strips of materials.

"Tell me I'm not dreaming here," he growled at her, looking up the slender length of her body and finally in to her eyes.

"If you are, than I am too," she moaned, pushing him back and following him until she was sitting on top of him. She leaned down, feeling his arms go around her, sliding up and down her back until she arched like a cat under his strokes, almost purring at the way he felt. Her lips found his, her mouth eager and hot, tantalizing him with blazing strokes of her tongue, teasing him with nips of her teeth.

Her hands weren't still, slipping over his hard body, pressing into resistant flesh, gripping the side of his sweats and pulling the loose fabric tight so she could tease him by tracing the long hard bulge displayed so prominently. Her lips left his, nuzzling his neck, finding the flat plains of his chest before going on to his small nipples. She teased one with her tongue, feeling it rise to her lips, catching it with her teeth and nipping gently before moving to the other. She felt him inhale as her mouth captured the other nipple and a small smile played upon her lips. He hadn't seen anything yet. By the time she was through, he'd be begging, and she couldn't wait.

Her mouth moved lower, her tongue busy investigating his taste, dipping into the slight well of his navel and swirling along the edge of his sweats. She looked up at him, seeing him watching her in the slight light from the street lamps, his eyes half closed, his face caught in a grimace of lust. Still watching him, her fingers slid under the elastic, tracing the soft flesh just under his navel, going deeper and brushing the wiry hair. She pulled the elastic down, his hard cock springing from its taut tent. With a groan of admiration, she grasped the erect shaft, her long fingers barely meeting around his girth. She felt Gabe push into her hands, his cock straining and swollen, red with need, the plump head almost purple.

* * *

The purple head of his cock touched her lips, and Tara froze, feeling a disgust rise in her that was hard to overcome. This man had killed the one woman in her world that she loved. Now, he expected her to blow him with no thought as to what he had done and not try to exact revenge? She wondered how badly he'd hurt her if she managed to bite off his cock, before he bled to death. But then she faced the long and horrid though of dying here of starvation. It was almost worth it, she thought suddenly even as he pushed his length into her mouth, the head touching the back of her throat and making her gag. But survival suddenly seemed paramount and she opened her mouth as much as she could, tasting the foulness of him on her tongue. Her lips stretched wide around him, her jaw starting to ache as he held her mouth open with his thumb pushed against her cheek, battering into her mouth, pushing against the back, never relenting.

The words he used were foul, degrading and explicit. They were words that she had never used herself, never been allowed to hear as she was growing up. They shocked her, especially when he called her a fucking slut and told her to take it all like a good cunt should.

She almost sighed her relief when he pulled out of her mouth, letting her rest her aching jaw. But instead he dropped down in front of her, pushing her thighs as far apart as they would go in the chair, his hand coming to rest upon the soft hair of her mound. He leaned close, his lips sliding across her cheek and to her ear.

"This is going to hurt, Tara. But it can't be helped. I need to send them something of yours." He took hold of a section of her sparse pubic hair, grasping it tightly in his fist and then yanked, hard, pulling it from her body.

Tara screamed at the unexpected pain, her body wanting to fold in upon itself to protect her from any more pain. But he stayed between her thighs, holding up the curly lock he'd pulled out by its roots, staring at it with glee.

"They already have you DNA on the red scrap of your nightie I sent them with your blood and saliva on it. They should be able to guess how I got this sample. I don't know why I didn't do this before. It's more fun when I play against the cops." He took the tiny scraps of hair and wrapped them in a small square of red, leaving them lay in an envelope he pulled from his pants. Then he turned back to her. "Now, where were we?"

* * *

Buffy had his taste in her mouth, the sweet weight of him against her tongue, his girth stretching her lips as she sought to give him the ultimate of pleasures. She moaned, loving the way he felt in her mouth, enjoying everything about him, from the musky scent of his arousal to the husky moans that came from his mouth with every bob of her head, every swirl of her tongue.

Angel grabbed her hair, holding tightly to the satiny fall, trying to control the almost irresistible urge he had to come, to spew his semen in her mouth and feel her swallow it down. His seed boiled in his sex, and he bit down hard on his lip, thinking of everything from his mother's oatmeal to the statistics on violent crime in the city for the last four years.

Then she moaned, the sound vibrating around his cock, and he felt her take more of him in her mouth, sucking upon him hard.

"Buffy," he warned, his hands shaking as he wanted to push her down further on his thrusting cock. "I'm gonna come," he hissed.

She slid her hand down into the pale blue panties he hadn't yet got around to taking off, sliding them into the damp heat between her thickly swollen lips. She moaned again, feeling her fingers brush up against her distended clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure into her. And then she heard his words and another thrilling shock pulsed through her, making her redouble her own efforts to pleasure him.

"Oh fuck," he growled, his head going back into the pillow, giving up any thought of holding back. His teeth gritted, his hips jerked and he felt the heat take him, boiling over him as the first spurt of his sperm shot into her sweet mouth.

Buffy swallowed quickly, her mouth filling with his creamy seed, slipping down her throat easily. She worked his cock in her mouth, draining him, and then softly caressing him with her tongue until he pulled her away.

"What's this?" he said, spotting her hand still moving inside of those pretty pale blue panties, her skin shining through the lacy inset.

She blushed, but she didn't stop, watching his eyes as he stared at her. He pushed her back on the bed, holding her thighs together and trapping her hand between them as he pulled her last garment off of her wriggling form. Then he lifted her legs, one at a time, placing them over his thighs, opening her to his eyes.

"Don't let me stop you, baby," he said, rubbing his palms up the soft length of her thighs, pushing them open further. Her dewy folds were wet, gleaming in the dim light, her fingers strumming with restless urgency across the distended bud of her clit. "Nice, baby," he said, running his fingers just along the edge of her pussy, brushing across the back of her hand. "Very nice."

Buffy watched him as he bent forward, coming closer to her aching cunt, her fingers were wonderful for getting her off, but what she wanted was his touch, his fingers, his tongue, his cock inside her straining flesh. She used her two fingers to part those lips, her hips arching, trying to coerce him silently into giving her what she wanted.

"You have a pretty little cunt, Buffy Summers," he whispered, his hand coming under her thigh and resting against her lower stomach, his little finger brushing against the top of her slit under her hand. "What would you like me to do with it, baby?" he asked her.

She moved her hand, wanting to reach up and grab his head and jam it into her crotch to get her point across but he backed away just enough that she couldn't reach him easily. His grin was easily seen in the dim light and her groan was just as easily heard.

"Uh uh, sweetness. You need to tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to lick your clit, or finger fuck you? Or do you want me to ran my cock into this cute little hole?" he asked, running his finger quickly through the wetness gathered there and teasing her with little touches.

"I want you to lick me and finger fuck me," she said, her hips gyrating under his teasing, her voice demanding and hoarse. "And then I want you to fuck me with your cute little cock," she growled back at him, listening to him laugh.

"Oh, I'll show you little, sweet one. You're going to be walking bow legged tomorrow when I get done with you."

"Promises and words don't mean shit, buddy. Anti up or get out of the game," she smiled but it was more of a grimace, her body sending silent screams of urgent need that had her not quite enjoying the word play as much as she might.

Angel laughed, letting his legs slide back until he was on his belly between her long thighs. He reached out, his fingers trailing over the soft skin of her mound, slipping through the slickness of her cunt before coming back to circle her clit, flicking it gently as her hips moved pushing her against his fingers. He played with her, stroking her body to almost the edge of ecstasy before bringing her back, taking his time until she was a panting, begging mass of titillated nerve endings. He rose over her then, feeling her thighs hook over his hips, her body arching up, inviting him to plumb the depths of her wet heat. He pushed inside her slowly, glad she'd let him come earlier or else he'd probably have disgraced himself now with the way she felt around his throbbing cock. She was hot, an inferno of need that had her feeling like wet velvet, stroking over his flesh ever so slowly as he invaded her cunt.

Her nails were digging into his back, her hands pulling him closer, wanting more, wanting it fast and hard and now. But he refused, feeding her inch after long inch, losing himself in her tightness, stroking her hair from her face and forcing her to open her eyes and look at him. "This isn't a dream," he groaned, kissing her lush lips that panted with her desperate need.

"No," she agreed, thrusting against him as he finally filled her completely. "It's not a dream."

"Good," he growled against her mouth. "I'd probably have gone insane if you disappeared on me again." He kissed her confused look away, his body thrusting slowly against her, her body undulating under his as she tried to hurry him.

His cock sunk deep, rubbing against her clit with every stroke until she was grinding against him, begging him with whimpered cries to hurry, to fuck her harder, faster. "Make me come on your cock," she begged, rubbing his back, her hands sliding over his ass, feeling the muscles working there.

When he did, she arched her back, her muscles so tight with the dark pleasure that soared through her, she thought she'd died. Nothing could feel like this, nothing had ever come close to the glorious wash of heated ecstasy that was pouring through her.

He pumped himself into her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling the tightening of that sweet pussy around him. Then the heated outpouring of her pleasure covered his cock, her cunt squeezing around him like fingers, pulling him deeper. She was impossible to resist, her beauty as she came indescribably, and he felt the first deep pulsing of his cock as he too found that same plateau, sliding off of it and flying into the dark depths of passion's pleasure. With a shouted groan, he shot his seed deep into her womb, claiming her in the age old way of men as his own.

Buffy stirred under his limp and lax form, her legs, which had been so tightly wrapped around him, finally slipping free, caressing his body as they slid down to rest upon the bed. Her hand played in his hair, stroking the sweaty strands, slipping over his shoulder to trace the line of muscles upon his back. "Mmm," she moaned, her breath catching as she stretched under him, her body arching against his to press erotically. "That was something," she whispered, hugging him.

"Just something?" he asked, lifting his head with a groan that made her laugh. "You can't find any other words to describe it? You know, something like amazing, wonderful, the best. I know, how about downright God like?"

Buffy giggled, reaching up to kiss his lips gently. "Okay, that was absolutely the best sex, it was amazing, wonderful. Are you sure you're a cop and not a God?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Now you're making fun of me." With a huge, heart felt groan, he managed to pull away from her slick flesh, falling to his back with a gruff grunt and throwing his arm over his eyes. "I'll never live through the pain of it," he exclaimed, peeking out from under his arm to see her reaction to his words.

She rolled to her side, feeling his come leaking out of her and onto his thigh and enjoying the heated slide of it. "Poor baby, do you need your ego stroked." She reached out, taking his softening cock in her hand and stroking it gently.

"That's not my ego, but it'll do," he said, laughing and gathering her in his arms. "That really was pretty amazing."

"You're telling me." She snuggled down into his shoulder, stifling a yawn against his naked chest. "And you're pretty wonderful to sleep with," she muttered, closing her eyes.

* * *

Tara cringed as he pulled out of her sore and swollen cunt, feeling the rush of his fluids as the pooled out, creating a puddle on the chair under her. She bit her lip as she tried to control the moan of pain, barely managing a smile as he looked up at her.

"You enjoyed that?" he asked her, amazed at the smile.

"I would have enjoyed it more if I was free," she said, looking down pointedly at her arms and legs.

"I-I don't know," he said, confused. None of the girls had ever acted this way. None of them had urged him on as she just had, or asked to be let loose so that she could fuck him back. He wasn't sure what to do with this strange predicament. He looked past her at the cages he had set up. He could put her in the little one but it wouldn't be much different than where she was now. But if he put her in the big cage, she would be sullyinghis sweet Buffy's things, wouldn't she? Then again ... Tara was her friend. Maybe Buffy wouldn't mind? He closed his eyes, opening them to see her looking at him calmly. "Okay," he said suddenly, making his decision. He rose and went to the cupboard, grabbing his cutters and bringing them back. "Let's get you free."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten:

The house was dark. Buffy's Camaro still sat in the parking lot of the restaurant which had been closed for business since he'd sent his little gift. He drove the streets, checking the grocery store and anywhere else that she could have been.

They had her stashed away from him. They didn't believe he would kill Tara to get her. He would, if he had to. But for some reason, killing her wasn't something he wanted to do anymore.

It was only ten PM but the streets were strangely empty. The mayor had put out a curfew until the Red Ribbon Rapist was killed.

The press had named him after Maggie Walsh's death, seeing the red ribbon on her hair and gaining the knowledge of the others, through secret sources, of course. He had laughed when he sent that letter in, knowing that the police were trying to keep some things out of the press. Why shouldn't he talk to the press? The Zodiac Killer had, so had BTK and Son of Sam.

He slowed at an intersection, stopping as the light turned red. Crossing in front of him, like a temptation to his soul, was a young woman, alone, her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders. Her eyes turned and looked into his car, staring at him as she walked between the white lines of the cross walk and she smiled, a saucy mix of youthful exuberance and flirtation. And he could see her now, tied to his chair, that smile gone, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair would feel like satin, smooth under his brush, the red ribbon such a pretty decoration in it. Her skin would be taut, tawny, with brown nipples capping those perky tits that barely bounced with every step she took. Her lips would be soft, hot around his cock even as she gagged and moaned, crying and screaming around his hard shaft.

His cock grew hard, his pants too tight and he squirmed for a moment, reaching between his legs to shift things to make more room. She would make an interesting addition to his collection.

She continued across, reaching the curb with her long legged gait. He couldn't help but stroke himself as he watched her walk away, her ass moving under her short, bouncy skirt, her long legs eating up the ground easily. He'd never had two before. The idea was intriguing. One watching while the other performed tricks to please him, maybe even letting Tara have some fun with this little one since he knew she liked other girls so much.

Flipping on his turn signal, he followed her, watching as she crossed another block to a less populated part of the city, where the street lights didn't reach too far into the shadows. It was a perfect area for predators, a perfect area for him. He pulled his car to the side, parking in a small alley. Grabbing a stone, he knocked out the streetlight near the alley, leaving the area blanketed in darkness. And then he followed her, his legs quickly catching up the distance between them, the soft soles on his shoes camouflaging the sound of his footsteps. She didn't hear him, she didn't see him. She was easy prey.

Five steps away from her, he took another look around, his grin breaking across his face, the smile like that of a jackal that scents a carcass left from some other predator. No cars, no people, a sweet little blonde woman walking late at night, not a care in the world.

Four steps and he pulled out his gloves, slipping his hands into the warmth of black leather, smooth, fine grained. They left no marks upon either people or items. It was as if he'd never touched them when he wore these gloves. He was a ghost, a predator without peers, slipping in and never leaving a clue.

Three steps and he pulled his jacket collar up around his ears, hunching his shoulders so that his neck disappeared. With his head tipped down, his face remained in the shadows. All she would see would be a vague outline of a shape. She would have nothing concrete to tell anyone if she escaped from his clutches. Of course, she wouldn't escape. He hadn't lost one yet, even with dear Buffy it was only a matter of time.

Two steps and he took a deep calming breath, his heart pounding, his adrenaline spiking, leaving him feeling buzzed, as if he were invincible. He felt all powerful, unstoppable. He would add this one to his collection. He should have followed her to where she was going, done his homework and then waited to find her schedule. He shouldn't go after any of them like this, on a whim as he was. It was dangerous and stupid. But his successes recently had left him feeling a little cocky, and this little girl was prime pickings.

She hadn't heard him, still walking with that easy gaited stride, her legs bare in the cool air, tennis shoes on her feet. Her hair danced around her, the dim light of the widely spaced street lights catching and drawing out touches of gold that caught his eyes. Her ass was a sweet offering, rounded, taut, her buttocks moving seductively under that short skirt.

One step behind her, his hand reached out, slapping over her mouth, his other arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her back until that sweet firm ass that he'd been drooling over was pressed up against his cock. She struggled, they always struggled, until he held his hand over her mouth and nose, cutting off her oxygen. Her hands beat at his arms, her fingers pulled frantically at his hands, digging into the leather covering them but unable to gain enough purchase to yank him away and catch the desperately needed air. It was over in seconds, a tricky maneuver to know when to let up, but he'd done it before, he knew what he was doing. Confidence gave him an added sense of rightness this night, thoughts of the fun awaiting him with his two pretty captives making him just a trifle sloppy.

He didn't see her purse as it tumbled into the bushes next to the sidewalk, or feel the button that she yanked off the cuff of his jacket that fell beside it. When she slumped against him, he hefted her in his arms, hurrying now, for it was imperative that they reach his car unseen. He missed the boy sitting in his window, watching outside for his father to come home. He missed seeing him, the curiosity on his face as he gazed from his dark room, his hands up to the window to give him an easier view.

Opening his trunk, he dumped her inside, reaching for his kit and pulling out his roll of duct tape. He tore off enough to hold her prisoner, wrapping her slender ankles and wrists, slipping a piece over her mouth before checking her breathing. His hand slipped over her face, taking a moment to savor his victory, pulling open her jacket and cupping her breasts. Next he flipped her over, letting her skirt slide up, stroking his hands over the flesh left bare by the tiny red thong she wore. He squeezed hard, watching as his fingers dug into her flesh, wishing he could feel it through the leather that he wore. When he released it, the marks turned red and grew welted, making him smile.

She was tender and young, ripe for him to take and play with. Oh yes, Tara would enjoy this one.

* * *

Buffy sighed and opened her eyes, seeing the dim light of dawn filter through the small gap in the window blinds. Her hand reached out, sliding along the soft cotton of the sheet until she felt him, still next to her, his breathing still slow and deep. She rolled on the bed, scooting over, careful not to wake him. In the dimness, his eyes were shadowed still. She knew he had problems sleeping and that he was totally immersed in this case, the only case that the captain had given him now that Tara had been taken.

He looked so tired, his face stubbled with dark whiskers, his lips barely parted in his sleep. His face was turned towards her, though he slept on his back, the covers kicked off so that most of one hip and leg was visible. His body was hard, not the donut eating, loose bellied cop of some of the television shows she'd seen. He took care of himself, she'd see the heavy bag in the guest room and the bicycle that he'd hung up in his living room. It was a sexy body, leanly muscled, long legs.

Quietly, she reached her hand out, brushing against his stomach and that seductive little trail, reaching out for the sheet that was barely covering the rest of him and lifting it with two fingers.

"Are you planning on just looking or were you thinking of buying also?" His voice was husky with sleep, his eyes, when he finally opened them, were sleepy sexy, half open.

"Hmm, I haven't decided yet. I thought I might sample the merchandise before I decided." She smiled as she leaned over, taking his semi hard cock in her mouth and suckling upon it.

"Oh, baby, if you want to sample the merchandise every morning, I'm more than okay with that," he groaned, his hands going into her hair. Her mouth was hot, wet suction, her tongue a talented tease around his erect shaft. His hips jerked, wanting to thrust inside of her, to hold her still and fuck her mouth for about the next week. "If you want to get something out of this, baby, you'd better stop now. Otherwise I'm not going to be held responsible for my actions," he hissed, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and dragging her up his body. Her breasts pressed into his chest, her hands slid down his sides, finding the mattress and lifting her body up to straddle him even as his mouth found hers.

Angel ravaged her mouth, his breathing harsh. Even though he'd thought he'd had his fill of her the night before, taking her twice before curling up with her to sleep, he felt as if he'd explode as soon as his cock felt her hot wet walls around it. His hand slipped between her legs, his fingers exploring anxiously, finding the hard knot of her clit and torturing it with circling caresses that had her hunching down on him. He pushed his fingers inside of her, feeling her walls, coated with the moisture of her desire clamp down on them, her hips jerking, beyond thought of rhythm or grace.

She groaned, filling his mouth with the sound of her desire, her tongue battling his. She yanked her mouth away, crying out as he pressed deeper, his fingers curving inside of her, finding every nuance of erotic sensation he could and plying it. He felt her come, her juices coating his hand, her body tight. He pulled his hand away, hearing her groan in frustration, only to groan himself as he pushed his cock inside of her.

When he was fully seated inside of her, he pressed his hand to her lower back, rolling with one swift move until he was lying on top between her slim thighs. He didn't give her a chance to breathe jack hammering into her, feeling her clamp around him, her body arched anxiously. Sensation assaulted him, battered him as he grabbed her hips, driving into her and hearing her cry out again, her body convulsing under his. Still he gave her no rest, the tension of his desire reaching a torrid peak, his balls aching to come.

The sound of his cell phone barely penetrated the haze of desire around them. Angel cursed, his hand coming down on the bed next to them as he reached for it. Flipping it open, he growled as he saw the caller id. "McKenna and this had better be good."

Buffy barely stifled the groan that struggled to surface as he suddenly lifted himself off of her, going to sit on the side of the bed, his conversation growing softer as if he tried not to let her hear him. She scooted closer, just in time to hear part of the conversation before he hung up the phone.

"How much did he see?" at first.

"Yeah, and you're sure it's our guy?" came next.

"Okay, yeah, I'll be in. Give me thirty." Angel flipped closed the phone, dropping it on the bed beside him and running his hands through his hair with a sigh.

"What is it? Did they find Tara? She's not..." Buffy couldn't finish the question.

"No, no honey, they didn't find her. He took another girl last night, right off the street." He turned, his eyes softening as he stared at her passion flushed face.

"But he doesn't just take girls off the street," she said, her eyes clouding. "He's too methodical to take risks like that. Are you sure it's him?"

"I asked the same thing. The girl is our clue. She's blonde, twenty four years old and was out walking alone last night." He scrubbed his hands over his face before turning to lean over her, kissing her gently. "I've got to go in. I can have someone come out here and stay with you until later if you want to go back to sleep?"

"Hell no," she said, laughing as she got out of the bed on her side. "I'll race you for the shower. Loser has to scrub the winner's back." She made it two steps before he picked her up from behind, carrying her into the shower. She laughed up at him. "I won," she grinned.

"Huh? How do you figure that? I was carrying you."

"Yeah, in front of you," she smirked, laughing when he dumped her in the shower. Her laughter turned to a squeal when he reached in and turned on the shower all the way over to cold. "Dammit Angel, that's cold!"

"Oh, God, Buffy, I'm just so sorry," he blinked at her innocently, his hand rubbing across her chest. "I must have been blinded by your beauty and grabbed the wrong handle."

"Ass," she said, glaring at him as she set the temperature of the water for steamy, turning to face him as he got into the shower.

He sighed dramatically. "You know darling, if you keep using such sweet pet names for me, people are going to start thinking we're in love." He pushed her backwards gently, until she was under the water, her hair dripping into her face.

* * *

Water splashed on Tara's face, waking her from much needed sleep. She'd hurt so badly last night, her mouth, her breasts where he'd dug his hands into her. But the worst of the pain had been between her thighs. She'd used the sink in the plastic cube that had become her home to try to clean herself up some, worried about infections. If she became sick, she'd have no chance of surviving this.

Sputtering, she opened her eyes, using her fingers to wipe water from them.

"Wakey, wakey. Rise and shine, Tara. I've brought you a gift."

"What time is it?" she asked quietly, never knowing what she might say that might cause him to lose control.

"It's about four AM. I have to leave for work in an hour but I wanted to give you a chance to examine our new toy." He backed up to the opening in the cube and motioned her up. "Come on, you'll enjoy this surprise."

Tara rose, barely stifling the moan of pain as muscles resisted. Walking was painful, the ache throbbing in her groin turning to a scream of pain. She managed though, walking slowly towards him, seeing the knife once more in his hands.

He used it to motion her on, stepping behind her and pulling her back into his body. His free hand roamed over her breasts, his fingers grabbing onto one nipple and rolling it back and forth. She tried to hide the pain he caused her, she didn't want to give her the satisfaction of hearing her cry out, but he was relentless, his fingers moving from her nipple, down the ladder of her ribs and over her smooth stomach, pushing in between her thighs. He rubbed her soft pink flesh mercilessly, until the pain became too much and she sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "What's the matter, Tara? I thought you liked my touch."

"I-I do. I'm just re-really sore d-down there."

"D-down where?" he asked her mockingly.

"W-where your fin-fingers are," she whimpered. "I hurt really badly."

"Oh, Tara, you disappoint me. Just when I bring you a toy that you'll really like, you wimp out on me." He brought the knife around, holding it to her throat. "Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you aren't the right one for me to keep."

"No!" she cried out quickly. "I'll be fine, I'm just still dry, that's all." Tara took a deep breath, relaxing against him with visible effort. Her body shivered, missing the warmth of the blanket he let her use the night before.

"Are you sure? If you don't want to be here, I can let you go." He smiled, enjoying his play. He knew she knew the only way he'd let her go would be for her to be dead.

"No, I don't want to leave," she said quickly, bowing her head, her hair hanging limply into her eyes.

"Good girl," he said, giving her pussy one more quick rub before he shoved her forward. "Go to your chair."

She went, hurrying in front of him, afraid of what he would do if he grabbed her again. Walking around the high back of the chair, she stopped in shock at the sight that met her eyes, her hand going to her lips to stifle the cry of dismay. There was another girl. Blonde, different from hers. He had complained about her shade. Tara had seen the photos, this girl seemed to fit in better. She was also more of his body type too, thin, her green eyes open, begging. She was clean shaven, her pink slit easily seen as she had been tied up with her ankles spread wide, There was a piece of tape across her lips. Her hair was brushed and was held back by the same red ribbon he'd put in her hair. The same red ribbon that had been found in Maggie's hair.

"Pretty, isn't she?" he asked her, pushing Tara to her knees in front of the young girl. "I saw her walking the streets last night. I though maybe you'd like a toy of your own since, well, since that whore you were in bed with is dead."

Tara's head shot up, her eyes sending a blistering stare of hatred that she couldn't control as she heard what he said about Willow. Her gaze dropped as fast as it rose, her eyes closing as she tried to control her emotions, hearing him laugh.

"Touch her," he said quietly.

"W-whhat?" Tara asked, her head jerking back up at him as if she wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

"Touch her," he repeated. "I want to watch you get her off. I don't care how, you can do her with your mouth or your hand, or both. I don't give a fuck. Just make sure you put on a good show for me, else I might find myself bored and decide to fuck your ass today."

Tara stared up in the girl's green eyes, seeing her fear and her revulsion. "It's okay, you'll be all right."

"I didn't say to baby the bitch, I said to fuck her. Now do as you're told, Tara or she'll get to watch you get the ass fucking of your life."

Tara closed her eyes again to hide the loathing she felt for him, then leaned forward, her mouth lightly touched the girl's cheek. "Close your eyes," she whispered. "Think of me as your boyfriend and that we're playing some kinky kind of game." Her mouth slid down her throat, her teeth nibbling delicately against the girl's clammy skin. Tara tickled her throat with her tongue, sliding it over her collarbone and then down to one of those small curves of flesh, licking around her big hard nipple before sucking it into her mouth.

"Nice," her captor said. Tara heard the ripping sound of his zipper and knew the man had pulled out his cock. She kept up what she was doing, wondering when she would feel that horrid piece of flesh push into her again, knowing she wouldn't be able to hide the scream this time.

She moved to the other breast, her hands coming down to rest against the bound girl's thighs, her thumbs sliding up to trace the small creases where her legs met her body, feeling the girl wriggle under her hands, hearing the small moan she gave.

"You're doing really well, Tara. Make her come and I'll let you decide which one of you I fuck."

Tara tried to ignore him, instead concentrating on the taste of the girl's flesh. It was salty, with an underlying sweetness to it that made it a treat to savor.

"Lower, gorgeous. Lick her belly and reach up and play with one of these hard nipples."

Tara felt her head pushed down, her hand lifting to obey him, encountering his hand on the nipple she had chosen. She changed hands, reaching for the other nipple and twisting it gently, pinching and rolling the pebbled bud.

"Lower, Tara. I shaved her cunt just for you. I wanted her to be nice and pretty for you to lick."

Tara's tongue found the top of the clean shaven slit, sliding down into the wet heat she found there. The girl was aroused, her clit peeping from beneath its protective hood, begging to be nibbled and licked. She heeded its plea, drawing the tender morsel between her lips, finding that she was actually enjoying bringing this poor girl some pleasure during the middle of this terror.

Her hips shook as she explored the sweet wet folds of her cunt, her eyes closed tightly, the stimulation she was receiving almost too much to bear after waking up in this hell. She felt Tara touch her, felt her fingers in places that very few had ever touched her, and while she was scared, she was totally turned on also.

It didn't take much, a few licks, a teasing bite or two and the girl was crying out into her gag, her body shaking as she flooded Tara's face with her juices, her face turning bright red with embarrassed pain as she came. She felt Tara's tongue licking at her convulsing opening before circling back up to her clit to lap some more, the stimulation almost painful to her sensitive flesh now.

"Oh, so well done, Tara. Did you realize that she's a virgin? I found out when I shaved her, but I left her intact. Would you like to pop this cute little girl's cherry?" He laughed when Tara looked back up at him, dragging her face from between the girl's thighs. "You can do it," he said, then stepped around the chair, dragging his hand over the immense erection he held, stroking it so that it pointed right into the girl's face. "Or I can do it with this. Which do you think she'd prefer?"

"I'll do it," Tara said quickly, hearing the girl's quick cry of fright.

"Stand up," he ordered her.

"I said I'd do it."

"Oh, I know, but if you do her, Tara, I'm going to do your ass. It's up to you to decide." He laughed cruelly, seeing Tara blanch. "So, which is it?" he asked, laughing again as that look of hatred came back to Tara's face.

* * *

The shower had been quick, dressing done on the run so that she was putting her shoes on in Angel's car. Breakfast had been nonexistent though he did run through a drive through fast food place to grab them each a cup of non sludge coffee and a breakfast sandwich. His was gone in three big bites, his coffee half drained by the time they reached the precinct.

She walked with him into the building, unable to do anything but hurry since he held her arm in his big hand, holding her coffee carefully so that she didn't spill the hot brew all over her hands. She'd never seen him this way. He was hyped, his juices flowing as he hurried so that he could question the witness to the kidnapping.

That was about all she'd gotten out of him. They had a witness, someone who had seen him besides her. Now maybe they could get a sketch. Get that out and someone would have to know him. You couldn't live in a town this size without someone knowing you.

"Okay, baby," he all but whispered to her when they were almost in the bull pen. "I've got to leave you here again. If you want to use my couch, make yourself at home."

Buffy nodded, pulling the paperback out of her purse and headed towards the desk watching as he went to his office, dropping off his briefcase before giving her a wink and heading out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven:

Angel watched through the two way mirror as the boy, his father sitting next to him, worked with their best sketch artist. The kid was trying, he had to give him that, sitting there studying each sample nose, ear, eye and mouth before choosing one, and then giving the artist extra, as if it just wasn't quite right. He could see the picture of their killer, he watched it take shape and form under the artist's pencil. The only problem, their witness was a boy, he saw with the eyes of a child. What he saw looked like a monster or the boogeyman with wild eyes and dark skin. It had also been dark, on a dark street. How correct the sketch was, well that was going to be a matter of interpretation.

He waited until the artist was through, standing outside the door and smiling at the boy as his dad ushered him out. Then he went in. "The kid was a wonder," he said, standing beside the artist as he finished a few more lines on the face.

"Yeah, he was real specific about every feature. I think we got a budding cop on our hands," Gavin Park, the artist said. "He was actually easier to work with than some of the adults I've had to deal with. He blew on the sketch to rid it of some eraser marks than lifted the paper. "Ta da! Angel, meet your rapist."

Angel took the paper and staring at the face then handed it back. "Get me a couple hundred copies of that, okay? Have it sent out state wide, especially county wide. And I need some real clean copies to hand out to the press. I guess it's time to call a news conference."

"Yeah, guess you should go make yourself pretty," Gavin said, standing up and slipping the sketch into his folder which he tucked into a case that held all his equipment. "Better you than me," he said, slapping his hand across Angel's back.

"Not me, I don't deal with the press, that's the Captain's deal. He plays with the politics, I do the cop work." He watched as he picked up his samples, putting them back in their folders, cleaning up his space. "As soon as possible, Gav?"

"You got it," he said, picking up his case and heading out of the room.

Angel's eyes narrowed, staring blindly at the dull gray wall. He could almost feel the collar, the satisfaction he would derive from putting this one behind bars for the rest of his life. He was close, now for a bit of luck on top of his police work. He was due.

* * *

Tara woke slowly, keeping her eyes closed as she listened for any sounds that might indicate he was around. She heard the sound of breathing from the girl who was sleeping on the small cot with her, a feat she didn't know how she'd managed. Not after everything she'd had to do to get her there.

She hated to think of the begging and placating, the kissing ass almost literally she'd had to do last night to get him to loosen the poor, frightened girl from the chair. By the time he'd been through playing with them, the girl's arms and legs had been bloody from those damn plastic zip ties. So she'd begged to be allowed to release her, promising to share her bed and the cubicle with her, to take care of her and to not try to escape. As if either had believed she meant the later.

Her name was Cassie. She was new to town and hadn't given much thought to the curfew when she'd left her place the night before to run up to the store for a pack of cigarettes. She'd had the innocence of the young, bad things wouldn't happen to her, they happened to other people, people you hear about on the news.

She knew differently now.

Tara lifted her head, opening her eyes and glancing around the dark basement. There were small night lights set up now, something he had done for her. She hated the dark, was terrified of it and had only just conquered her fear, in the safety of Willow's arms. But now Will was dead and she would be in the dark forever. A tear gathered on her cheek as a vision of her girlfriend came to mind, smiling sweetly at her. It was superimposed by a vision of blood, a vision that he gave her.

"Is it safe?" Cassie asked, her voice so small as to almost be heard.

"Yeah, he's at work," Tara said, sitting up slowly, her abused body protesting every movement.

"I need to thank you, Tara. What you did for me last night, what you let him do to you for me, oh my God. I never expected that." Cassie sat next to her, snuggling close in the cool air of the basement.

"It's okay," Tara said, glancing down at her. Though in all honesty, Tara didn't know if she was. She'd never hurt this badly before, ever. Her pussy burned from his cock and his fingers that he'd forced inside of her. But worse, so much worse was her ass. She'd never taken anything there, not even the smallest of the dildos that she and Willow had played with. Not ever a finger before last night.

He'd forced her to bend over, her face buried between Cassie's legs while he'd pushed into her, his cock forcing through the tight ring of her anus, making her feel as if he'd split her wide open. She hadn't been able to stop the cries of pain that had escaped her as he'd wiggled his way into her dry opening until she took him all. Then he'd taken her hand, making her feel his cock buried so deeply in her ass, wiping her fingers through the blood caused by his abuse, smearing it over Cassie's thighs. He'd fucked her long, though not as hard as he could have, actually gentling his movements when she begged him to.

But now she hurt, and she hurt badly.

"Would you like me to look to see how bad it is?" Cassie asked softly.

"How did..."

"I knew a girl once whose boyfriend raped her like that. She was torn up afterwards, but didn't want her parents to know what had happened to her. They would have forbidden her to go out with him again. The stupid twit. I'd have cut off his dick myself."

Tara went to lie back down on the cot, on her stomach, trying to relax as Cassie moved down the cot towards the curves of her ass. She felt her fingers on her butt cheeks, carefully, and gently, pulling them apart. "There's a lot of blood," she said, grabbing one end of the small sheet that was on the bed and ripping off a piece. She wet it in the sink and brought it back, sitting down and looking up at what little she could see of Tara. "I'll try to be careful," she whispered.

Tara cringed as she felt the water against her swollen and cracked flesh. She knew Cassie was doing her best to be careful but the pain was intense. Tears started in her eyes. She didn't know how much more of this she could take, how much more she would want to take before she finally gave up and begged for him to kill her. If he planned to fuck her in the ass more, she didn't think it would take long. Then she would be another statistic, another girl murdered. She'd be a notch on whatever this sicko notched to keep count of his tally of bodies.

"I'm sorry," Cassie whispered, feeling the girl flinch. "I feel so bad about..."

"Forget it," Tara said. "I hurt you, too, last night."

She could still hear his voice in her ear. "Fuck her with your fingers; rip open that pretty little cherry. I want to hear her scream." She might have been gentler with her, but he'd grabbed her ass, pushing in deep, his hip bones digging into her ass cheeks. "Hurt her, Tara, or I'll really show you what getting your ass fucked is like." God forgive her, but she had, not even giving the girl warning before thrusting two fingers inside her cunt and spreading them wide, feeling the thinness of that membrane that covered part of the outside of her vagina as it split and tore. Cassie had screamed, the sound seeming to disappear in the room, as all screams seemed to. There was no echo, nor reverberation.

"It could have been worse," Cassie stated, matter of factly. "He could have fucked me before he woke you. I thought he was going to when he forced me into that chair and cut my clothes off of me." She didn't even want to think of the humiliation she'd felt as he'd brought out a razor and shaving cream, or the way he fingers had felt, smoothing over her skin as he shaved away her fuzz.

"I'll try to protect you, Cassie," Tara said, the thought of having someone to watch out for actually making her feel stronger. She flinched as the girl's soft fingers touched a very tender spot, and then relaxed when she got up to rinse out the small rag, coming back with it to start over, cleaning off his filth and her own.

"I don't know how I would handle this without you," Cassie murmured.

* * *

"It's handled," the captain told Angel as he walked into his office, a copy of the killer clutched in his hands. "We've got the call out to all the news stations and the papers. They'll be here at four, which gives them all plenty of time to get it in their early evening editions."

"Great, Gavin's supposed to be sending up about forty of these to hand out to the press, I'll make sure you get them as soon as they show up."

"You keep them. You're talking to the press. It's your case and I want your face on it." The captain sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers before him.

"You want me to deliver the release?" Angel took two steps inside the door, found the chair in front of the captain's desk and sat down in it heavily.

"Yeah, you got any problems with sending out a challenge to a scumbag killer?"

"No, no problems, Cap. Are you sure you don't want Buffy up there with me?" he asked sarcastically.

"Think she'd go for it?" the captain asked seriously, sitting forward suddenly. "It might be what we need to have this guy finally try again for her, somewhere where we can control it. She'd be perfectly safe," he finished.

"I wouldn't go for it. Come on, Cap. You're talking about a victim here, not another cop. We can't ask a civilian to get involved and put herself on the line for this."

"What if I don't want to be a victim anymore?" Buffy said, stepping in from the doorway where'd she'd been listening. Her face turned red as she realized she'd just given away her eavesdropping but she refused to back down. She was tired of bad dreams, of not being able to walk to the bathroom on her own, of not having her car or her life. The only thing that came out of this fiasco that was worth anything was her relationship with Angel.

"This isn't your decision," Angel said, getting out of his chair and going to her.

"Why isn't it her decision, McKenna? She's the one that's been under protective custody, it's her life that's been disrupted and torn to pieces. Why shouldn't it be up to her whether or not she wants to fight for the freedoms that this scum bag has ripped away from her?"

Buffy gave Angel a look that as much asked him the same question before coming in and sitting down before the captain's desk. "So what did you have in mind, Captain?"

"We'll start from the press conference, put you up behind Angel so that your picture will be with his. I'm not going to introduce you or anything; you won't have to make any statements. But you two will walk away from the conference together. We'll let our killer make the assumption that you are together and if he goes after one, then..."

"He'll get both of us," she finished for him, smiling grimly. "It could work," she said, turning to look at Angel.

"It would put your life in danger. He could kill you."

"Or you," she said softly.

"Captain, can we have a couple of minutes to talk about this?" Angel asked him, still standing by the door.

"Is there something going on here that I should know about?" The look on their faces, looks of guilt and red faced embarrassment gave him his answer. "Jeez, McKenna, should I take you off of this one?"

"No," he said quickly. "There is nothing going on between us. I'm concerned for her welfare as I would be concerned about any witness, sir."

"For some reason," Cap said, looking back and forth between them, "I don't quite believe you. But I'm going to let it go. Maybe if there are feelings there, it'll make you more prepared to do what you gotta do. I'll give you twenty minutes, then I've got to have an answer."

* * *

Tara snuggled closer to the body lying next to hers, they'd talked all morning until she had grown tired. Then she'd fallen asleep against Cassie's soft breast, her arms wrapped around the girl for warmth. They shared the one small blanket and it was too cold down here to do without.

She woke as she had earlier, her ears alert for any sign that they weren't alone. There was still no noise from the room or even the faintest of scuffle from up stairs. Cassie still slept, for there wasn't much else to do here. Tara felt her softness next to her and couldn't help the small twinge of desire that stirred through her. Sex had always been a release for her, a way to relieve stress. Willow had always told her that she had a strong masculine side sometimes, which was why she felt that way. Whatever it was, she couldn't help the way she felt now.

Tara's hand slid up from Cassie's taut stomach, slowly moving over the slight bumps of her ribs to the tiny curves of her tits. They were small, she remembered from last night, but her nipples were full, proudly capping those tiny swells. They were full now as her fingers slipped over them, and rigid, as if she, too, were enjoying the caress. Cassie moved under Tara's hand, a sleepy moan escaping her lips. Her hands were gentle, stroking over her, moving endlessly, like ocean waves against her flesh. STara bent her head, finding Cassie's nipple with her mouth suckling on it with tender pulls.

"Tara? Is he back?" Cassie asked, moaning at the pleasure of the hot mouth around her nipple.

"No," Tara mumbled back, refusing to give up her treat. She mumbled something else, something indistinguishable to Cassie, who started laughing.

"Don't you know, it's impolite to talk with your mouth full," Cassie accused, squealing when Tara nipped at the taut bud she played with. She moaned again when Tara grew serious, her fingers sliding around the soft swell of her breast, kneading it lightly. Her other hand played over the flesh of her stomach, sliding slowly down to the smooth, silky mound, slipping between her legs to play with her soft pink flesh. Cassie's hands played in Tara's long hair, sliding through the long strands. She'd never thought she could enjoy the feel of a woman's mouth on her or her hands touching her, but Tara was different. She had saved her, saved her from being raped and abused at the hands of their captor. If Tara wanted to kiss her and give her this kind of pleasure, she was all for it.

Cassie rubbed Tara's back, letting her hands slide over the smooth muscles and shoulders of the other woman. She felt soft, her skin silky, the bumps of her bones under the sleek muscle and flesh definitely erotic. Cassie let her legs open a little wider, her hips arching up, begging for more as Tara's fingers seemed to draw the pleasure out of her in ever widening waves.

Tara looked up, seeing Cassie's eyes on her face, her lips parted, her breath coming fast between them. "You don't mind?" she asked softly.

"No," Cassie moaned. "I don't know what to do though, how to please you," she admitted, blushing a little.

"Have you ever gotten yourself off?"

"Yeah, with my family, it's the only way I'll get sex. My dad's a minister. He barely let me date."

Tara nodded, the cliche about preacher's daughters not always being true. "Touch me like you like being touched. If I don't like something, I'll tell you. I did like how you were rubbing my back," she said, arching into her hands like a cat would.

Cassie giggled and then gasped as Tara's fingers played over her clit before sliding into her, the wetness of her arousal easing her way. She moaned, feeling for the second time what it would be like to be fucked, to have someone invade her body with their own. But this time was different. She wanted this, she wasn't sore from having her virginity stolen from her, and she was alone with Tara now.

"I think you like this," Tara said, laughing gently. She slid her body down, lying between Cassie's thighs, kissing slowly around the soft skin of her pussy before letting her tongue run down the outside of the thick pussy lips, tasting just the hint of her juices, smelling the strong scent of her arousal. She moved her fingers inside of the girl's cunt, feeling the muscle's grip and release, contracting around her as she brought her to pleasure.

Cassie's body shook, her hands clutched at the cot, she felt Tara's tongue and wanted to beg her to use it, to stroke over her clit like she had last night. "Please," she hissed, her hips moving in time to the thrust of fingers.

"You want my tongue, Cassie?" Tara asked her, smiling for she already knew the answer to that. She couldn't believe how aroused this young girl was making her, hearing her gasps and moans, knowing she was the only one to have taken her this far, was an almost orgasmic experience in and of itself.

"Please," Cassie groaned again, pushing aside the blanket to expose Tara's head between her thighs, wanting to watch as the girl licked and lapped at her cunt. She hadn't been able to watch last night, embarrassed over her actions, she'd kept her eyes closed, especially when the man who'd taken her had shoved his dick into Tara the way he had. It had been violent and definitely not something she wanted to ever experience.

"Tell me," Tara whispered, her breath feathering over that straining little knot of nerves that had popped from beneath its hood. She twisted her fingers inside of Cassie, hooking them to rub against the top of her sheath, rubbing gently and searching until she heard her gasp and felt her strain upward.

"Oh, what's that?" Cassie groaned, her hips starting to move with even more of a frantic need.

"Your G spot, sweetie," Tara laughed, her tongue coming out to lightly lap at the dancing flesh in front of her face. "Relax and let it come, I promise you, you'll enjoy it."

Cassie found that she could do nothing but, for the pressure building up inside of her was like nothing she'd known before. Her back arched, her moans growing louder in the still of the air around them. Her hand found the back of Tara's head, pushing her even deeper into the soft wet walls of her cunt, feeling her teeth grab her clit and nibble on it, pushing her even higher. It felt as if she would implode, the feelings tightening, the pressure increasing until she squinched her eyes closed tightly, a scream coming from between her lips as it burst open over her. Heated prickles of dark passion spread through her, wave after wave of the most exquisite pleasure she'd ever felt in her life beat at her nervous system, short circuiting it until she felt as if she'd pass out from bliss.

Tara smiled, hearing and feeling Cassie's orgasm, tasting the rush of juice that came out from around her fingers. She lapped it up hungrily, circling the now super sensitive bud of her clit and teasing it with the tiniest of flicks until she pushed her away, her body folding in on itself.

"Brava! Brava!"

The girls both jumped, Tara moaning as the pain of her injuries was jarred awake with the sudden motion, as the clapping came from almost directly beside them. It was muffled slightly by the plastic wall of the cube. When she looked up, she looked directly into the eyes of their captor, shivering at the look in his.

He'd become excited by what he'd witnessed, Tara knew that, she could see it in his face and in the ridge of flesh that was hard under the slacks he wore. She wanted to scream, for she could see in his face that they would be made to satisfy his deviant pleasures. If she thought it would do any good, she'd have gotten on her knees and begged. But he would be turned off by that, he was by any show of weakness. Instead she sat up, stared in right in the eyes. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, though I'd have put more into it if I'd known you were watching."

He took a step back from their cage, staring into Tara's eyes. For a second, right after he'd spoken, he could have sworn he saw fear. But now, there was no fear, only a kind of cockiness that he rather liked. "Then I should have said something sooner. Perhaps tomorrow. We have a treat for today though, girls. They are holding a press conference about us." He gestured to the television set that he'd lugged down the stairs so that they might watch it with him. He'd also brought some food, more take out from the same place. "Now will you two behave if I let you out? Or do I have to put you back in the chair, little one," he said to Cassie.

"N-no, I'll behave," she whimpered.

Tara kicked her, glaring at her. She had to be strong, she couldn't whine or whimper. Not if she wanted to live. Tara wanted her to live. If anyone else died, she didn't think she could deal with it and stay sane.

"Tara?" He was at the door, his hand holding something long and black. She walked toward him, ducking down to make it out the low doorway. "Hold out your arms." She did and he wrapped a black belt around her waist, buckling it tightly and then using a tiny padlock to lock it closed. On the back, through a little round ring, he clipped what looked to be a dog's chain, the other end padlocked to the wall, allowing her just a little freedom. Then he went back to the cube and called for Cassie. Instead of belting her, he grabbed her hand, rubbing it down the front of his pants. "Pretty little Cassandra, your face was so red when you came, it was quite perfect." He led her to the chair, forcing her down in it though he didn't tie her to it. "Now," he said, clapping his hands once. "Where should we start?"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve:

Angel looked over his notes, rereading what the department press release official had deemed newsworthy and mixing it with what he and the Captain had come up with to try and coax their suspect out into the public eye. All it would take would be one person to see his picture and recognize him and they could have him, finally.

But then he knew Buffy could go home. Angel wasn't sure if he liked the idea of her not being there for him. He turned and looked over at where she was brushing her hair, something the Captain and the department shrink said she needed to do right before they went out. Their suspect had a thing for hair, her honey blonde type of hair. He had a thing for good looking girls of about her age and with her similar physical attributes.

Hell, Angel thought, he had a thing for Buffy period.

That thought made him even less happy with the idea of her being involved in all of this. He went up to her, crouching in front of her chair and resting his hand against her thigh. "Are you sure you want to do this? It could get dangerous for you."

"It could get dangerous for you, too," she said in all seriousness, wishing she could reach up and touch his face or rest her head against his shoulder.

"Yeah, but that's why they pay me the medium size bucks," he joked. "So I can get my ass shot at." He sighed. "You don't need this. Last night was the first that you didn't have any nightmares."

"Someone didn't let me sleep long enough to have nightmares last night," she laughed, setting the brush on the desk and pulling out some makeup. "I promise, Angel. I'll be fine. Besides, how hard can it be? You know, sitting ducks just ... sit there."

"That's not funny," he growled, the image of her covered in blood or strangled with those horrid black bruised circling her throat popping into his mind.

"But if it works, you'll be off of babysitting duty, that a plus. Right?" She glanced up at him casually as she finished speaking.

"Yeah, it's a plus, but having you out of my bed isn't. Neither is not seeing you anymore." He resisted the urge to stroke his hand over her hair, but just barely. "I don't like the idea of you not being next to me at night. I've gotten used to your grunts."

"Pigs grunt, Mr. Police Officer sir, not delicate little girls like me," she answered him back primly, making him laugh.

"That's Mr. Detective, to you, baby."

She smiled, liking the way that sounded coming from him. "So, what are you saying, here? That if we make it through this, you want me to move in or something?"

"Well," he said, smiling and trying to cover it with his hand. "We could start with dinner and go from there."

Buffy grinned. "I think I could do that," she said, reaching over and picking a tiny bit of lint off of his lapel. He was dressed in a dark navy suit with a lighter blue shirt. And despite the shadows under his eyes, he looked amazing. "Have I ever told you that you look yummy in blue?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling.

"Yummy? I don't think I've ever been described as yummy before," he laughed.

"Oh yes you have," she quipped.

* * *

"You'll see her again, Buffy. I promise," Angel said softly.

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Angel." She looked down, picking up the brush and playing with it as she did.

"Hey," he said, reaching out and covering her hand with his. "I never make promises I can't keep. I have a good feeling about this. I know we'll find her, and alive. It's just a matter of time."

"I can't help but think what she's going through, and that other girl, the one he took last night. What are they going through? What are they thinking? They must feel so helpless." A tear started in her eye, falling down her cheek and she swiped at it angrily.

* * *

He turned on the television, turning the set so that it angled enough that Tara could see it from where she was tethered. He had cable hookups all over the house, an easy thing when he did all his own wiring work. "Ready ladies?" he asked, clapping his hands in glee like a small child. Tara shot daggers at his back with her eyes, taking tiny steps along the floor for her thigh muscles were screaming with pain and her ass hurt. He was acting like a child now, not the monster he'd been last night. It was as if, with this news conference, he'd reached a new goal, a new high.

There was a picture on the screen, a high school yearbook shot of Cassie, her name and age under it when the television screen flashed on. It was followed quickly by a picture of Tara her arms wrapped around a beaming Willow. Tara felt a sob well in her throat, remembering how happy they'd been together when that picture was taken.

Both those pictures disappeared, and a new one was put up. This was an artistic sketch; a drawing of the man they thought was the killer.

"Wow, it's not very good, is it?" he asked Cassie, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

The artist had captured him as having wild eyes, nothing like the mild mannered though eerily colored eyes that he had. His hair had been wind blown, standing up on his head. His nose was too large and his mouth seemed way too wide. There were some similarities but not enough for him to worry about and he pursed his mouth, a trifle disappointed. To amuse himself, he reached down, rolling Cassie's nipple between his thumb and finger as he listened to the Mayor give his usual bullshit. But his attention perked when Detective Angel McKenna was introduced.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. I won't take up too much of your time but I wanted to give you the FBI profile that we've had drawn up on our killer. That along with his picture, we hope, will jar a memory out there and have you calling in to our hotline..." he said, then started to give a description of the words faded as the cameraman zoomed the shot out, showing everyone standing upon the steps of City Hall, and not just the detective. He saw her in an instant, her blonde locks gleaming in the sun.

"Buffy?" he breathed, his fingers slipping off of Cassie's nipple, his hands grabbing the back of her chair and holding on tight.

She was beautiful, even more so than he remembered or that showed in any of the pictures he had of her. He could only see a part of her for there was another detective next to her, his badge clearly showing on his belt, his arm coming in front of her as if he were protecting her. She wore a red blouse today that clung to her curves and was open at the throat, his eyes going to the dark hint of her cleavage. His fingers itched to touch her, to open those tiny white buttons and expose red satin and lace cupping the soft curves of her breasts.

The cameraman panned away from her, zooming in for a moment on the detective who was still talking and he grabbed the chair harder, a moan coming from between his lips. "No!" he yelled at the television. "Bring her back!"

He didn't hear a word that was said, though he didn't care for he was taping it from one of his other televisions. She'd been there, she'd actually been right in front of him. He kept his eyes glued to the television, even as his mind retreated to the day he'd first seen her...

He'd been younger, visiting his uncle with his parents. His mother's brother hadn't every really seemed 'all there', but his mother loved him anyway and they went to his home in the city every year. This year had been different, though he wasn't quite sure how, until he heard the screaming. Running from his room, he'd gone down the stairs, seeing his father pull his mother away from his uncle who was cowering in a corner, a large bundle at his feet. It fell over as he watched, a hand, the skin looked almost light blue in color, spilling out, pulling off the blanket that uncovered the face. Her face. Buffy's face. So perfect with her eyes open and staring, her mouth painted the exact red that matched the soft ribbon his uncle had wrapped in her hair. She'd seemed the sublime present, exquisite in death, never leaving, never screaming or hitting or hating, as his mother was.

He closed his eyes, feeling the pull of that memory, unaware of his hands going to Cassie's throat. He didn't hear Tara's shouts or curses, or feel Cassie's hands digging into his skin, tearing at the meat on the back of his hands as her face turned red and then purple, her eyes starting to bulge. All he saw was that perfect face with the red ribbon in her satiny sweep of blonde hair.

His cock throbbed in his pants, pushing desperately against the zipped that held it bound. His hands flexed, almost as if in pain and he released Cassie, not hearing her strangled moans and the heavy sound of her gasping as she tried to draw air in through her tortured throat. He knelt down in front of her, almost as if he were in some kind of trance, reaching out to run his hands over her hair even as she cowered back away from him. "So pretty," he whispered, lifting a strand and bring it to his nose. "So soft."

He smiled, the sight terrifying to the poor girl held prisoner in the chair by his body. She didn't dare move, didn't dare provoke him further, trying to suck in air and not make a noise. She could hear Tara behind her, yelling curses, trying to coax him away and couldn't believe her bravery even though in her terror she wished he'd go. She flinched as his hands came out again, taking one of hers and putting it on the long hard ridge of flesh that rose under his pants. It throbbed against her palm and she sobbed, knowing that she was about to be raped.

"Rub it, Buffy," he whispered, his eyes still lost in the past even as his hands moved over her body, pulling her forward in the chair. "Unzip my pants," he urged Cassie, his mouth moving over her ear and down to her mouth, tasting the saltiness of her tears upon his lips. "Pull out my cock, Buffy. That's it, baby, take it in your hand and stroke it. Ahh, yeah, that's what I like, nice and gentle."

"Do it, Cassie. Do what he says," Tara said softly. "Don't fight him."

His cock felt strange in her hand even though she'd been forced to touch it before. It was soft skinned steel, like buttery soft leather over a metal rod. He made strange noises in his throat as she touched him, stroking him as he ordered.

Grunts, came from his lips, his eerie eyes closing as he lost himself to his memories, fantasies and her touch. He jerked his hips, pushing more of his shaft into her hand. "I want to fuck you, Buffy. You want me to, don't you, baby? Tell me you want me to fuck you."

MCassie opened her mouth to do what he asked, her voice hoarse and barely recognizable. "I w-want you to f-fuck me."

"Benjamin," he urged. "I want you to fuck me, Ben."

"I want you ... to ... fuck me B-Ben," she almost mimicked, her heart constricting as she thought of what was about to happen.

"Good girl," he said, leaning forward, his lips gently kissing her mouth, his tongue touching her teeth and then her tongue before moving back to his mouth. "Sit up, I want to taste your nipples. Cup your tits. Feed me your nipples."

She started to pull her hand from his cock but his dropped over her, fisting around it tightly, moving her fingers and jerking himself off with her hand, a wet squelching sound coming from beneath their fingers. So she lifted the other one, forcing her back to arch even as a sob burst from her lips, lifting to small swell of her breast so that he could reach her soft nipple.

"Hmmm, Buffy," he said as his tongue licked across the soft point. "Your tits are so sweet." His mouth closed around it, suckling gently at first and then harder, his breathing getting rougher as he kept jerking his hand around hers, stroking himself so fast her arm was beginning to ache with the pressure to keep up.

Then he suddenly stopped. He squeezed her fingers around the base of his cock, moaning in an almost animalistic way that scared Cassie more than anything had yet. Her nipple popped from his mouth, the skin around it red, and the tip swollen. She wanted nothing more than to cower back into the chair, but she knew he would notice any move she made.

"So close," he whispered, his voice singsong high and strangely melodious. "So close to coming," he grinned as he looked down at her, his eyes opening and staring into hers. "I'm going to fuck you now," he said, releasing her hand and letting her move her sore fingers away from him. "I'm going to fuck you, Buffy. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me more than any man you've ever been with before." He grabbed her thighs, squeezing the soft, resilient flesh and feeling the strong muscles moving under it, pulling her forward in the chair until just the edge of her ass rested on the seat. He took her ankle, tipping her backwards, resting her calf against his chest, his hand running down it as he crawled forward, the tip of his now red cock pushing between her swollen lips.

She was wet from Tara's play earlier. But he took it to mean that she wanted him. Opening her thighs wider, he grabbed her face, pushing her forward so that she could watch as he pushed himself into her. She gasped as she felt him enter her, stretching her intimate and delicate flesh slowly and with care, not the brutal and forceful rape she'd expected from him. It was an invasion anyway, for she didn't want him, couldn't want him. He forced her to watch though, as every long inch of him found its way inside of her body until her forehead was resting against the neatly buttoned front of his shirt.

His hands stroked her hair, pulling gently upon the ends, twining his fingers through it. He missed the ribbon, but she felt so good around his cock, soft, wet, hot, that he couldn't pull from her to go and get it. He liked the fact that she wanted to watch them fuck and bent his head next to hers. "That's so fucking hot, Buffy, the way you feel around my dick. Put your fingers down there, feel how wet you got me," he ordered hoarsely, moaning when she did and he pushed through her fingers to press them between their bodies. "Oh, yeah, you're so fucking beautiful, so goddamn tight. Tell me you like it. Tell me you want me to fuck you hard."

He dug his hand into her hip, forcing her head back with the other one. He blinked, almost as if coming out of a trance, his eyes clearing, staring down at her swollen, tear soaked face, snot running from her nose, her eyes red rimmed from crying. "What the...?" His hips jerked and he groaned, his eyes running from the pretty hair and over her shoulders to the small tits with their huge nipples. His hands lifted, finding the soft little nubs and rubbing them between his fingers, feeling them respond despite her reluctance. "You don't have to like me, Cassie," he whispered to her, staying fastidiously away from her face. "You just have to fuck me back. Come on," he urged, his hips moving against her, his cock seesawing in and out of her, his balls slapping against her ass. "Fuck me back, Cassie!" he ordered, watching as she bit her lip, her hands going to the edge of the chair and lifting her up slightly. He felt her uncertain movements and grinned widely, terrifying the poor girl even more. "Good, I love a trainable whore. Come on, move those hips, fuck me." He held himself still, his hand going to her thigh and giving it a sharp slap. "I said, MOVE!"

"Do it, Cas," Tara urged, her hands fisting, wishing she was close enough to grab the mother fucker's head and slam it into the chair. "Just fuck him and get it over with."

"Jealous," he panted, feeling his come starting to boil in his balls as the innocent girl moved against him. "Don't worry, darlin'," he said, faking a Texas accent. "There's always more where this came from. You might have something to worry about, though Tara. She's not a bad little fucker when she puts her back into it." He laughed, the sound washing over Tara and fueling the rage she was fighting to hide.

"Then you can just fuck us both, can't you, Ben," she said, stressing his name.

Cassie shrieked when he suddenly grabbed her hips with both hands, slamming himself into her. She could feel him swell inside of her and then start to throb, a wet heat bathing her and making her feel strange. She knew he'd come inside of her and it disgusted her to her very core. But there was nothing she could do but hang in his grip, his hands digging into her hips, his face red and teeth gritted as he grunted through his orgasm.

When he dropped her on the chair, pulling out of her with a plop, she couldn't move, feeling his nasty seed dripping from her, running into a small puddle against her ass and thighs. He stood, pushing his wilting cock back into his pants, and fastening them, straightening his shirt and hair. He glared down at her. "Go clean up this mess you made," he ordered, pointing her toward the sink where a clean rag sat out. "Then you can give Tara there her food and get your own." He turned back towards the television, seeing that the broadcast was over and it was back to their "regularly scheduled programming." He grinned, for her remembered seeing Buffy standing behind that detective. "Detective Angelus McKenna. A good name for a foe, don't you think?" he asked Tara, turning to see her drinking her soda.

"Yes," she said, though her tone was icy.

"Oh, Tara, love. I thought you'd be happy to have a day off from fucking. You whined so much last night when I was in your ass. But if you like," he said, motioning for Cassie to walk over to him. "I can have little sugar tits here get me hard again, and then I can fuck you for a while. You know, the second time always takes me forever to get off."

"No, that's okay. I appreciate your thoughtfulness," Tara said quickly, trying to wipe away any hint of insolence from her tone.

He laughed. "I knew you'd feel that way. But that's okay, you two little ones get to go back to your cage. I have a bigger fish to fry out there." He walked towards Cassie and she scurried in front of him, her sandwich clenched tightly in her hand. He locked the cage door behind her, turning to Tara "Come here, cowgirl," he said, faking the accent again. "Give your sugar daddy a kiss and we'll put you up wet for the night," he quirked his brow at her, watching as she walked toward him. "Kiss me and do it like you mean it," he ordered her.

Tara felt a shiver of revulsion and managed to hide it, but just barely. She flinched as she got close enough to touch him and he yanked her forward, making her screaming muscles shriek in protest.

"Kiss me," he said, his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to his clothed body.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips against his, not moving them, waiting until he pulled away from her.

"That was pathetic," he growled. "But I don't have time to do anything about it right now." He lifted a ring of keys from his pocket, selected the one that fit the lock at her waist and undid the belt, pushing her toward the cage door. He unlocked it, thrusting her inside. "You two play nice," he chuckled. "Make room, I plan to have another playmate for you tonight," he said, thinking of Buffy's face as she'd looked on the steps. He turned and headed towards the steps, stopping and waggling his fingers back at them as he reached the bottom. "Oh and Cassie, thanks for the fuck."

He turned out the light at the top of the stairs, shutting the door behind them and leaving them in the semi dark of the basement room.

* * *

Buffy looked up from the book she was pretending to read as a shadow came across the page.

"You know, that might actually work a little better if you turn the page every once in a while," Lindsey said, handing her a fresh cup of coffee.

She glanced at the book, seeing the Chapter One on the first page and actually snorted. "Yeah, I guess it would," she laughed, setting it down and taking the cup from him. "Where is everyone?" she asked, trying to be nonchalant.

"If by everyone you mean Angel, he's downstairs in the big meeting room. They're powwowing over how to keep you safe now that they've set you up." He sat in the chair next to her, picking up the book and studying the front cover where some half naked babe stood in the arms of some overly buff stud with long hair flying in the wind, his arm around her, and a sword in his hand. "You chicks actually get into this kind of thing?" he asked her, tipping the cover her way.

"Us chicks get into romance and being swept off our feet occasionally. If we can't get it from real life," she shrugged and nodded at the book, taking a sip of her coffee. "Next best thing is what we take. So how come you're up here and not at the powwow conspiring on my life?"

"Someone had to babysit," he said in disgust before realizing what he'd said. "Oh shit, that's not what I meant..." he trailed off searching the sky as if a rope would suddenly appear to drag him out of the hole he'd dug.

"It's okay, honest." She laughed at his expression. "I understand getting the short stick."

"Hell, if you're a short stick," he said, leering at her, "I'll take it every time."

"Nice try," she said, hearing him snort.

"Buffy?" She looked up as Angel came up to the desk. He nodded at Lindsey. "Come on," he said, reaching for her arm. "We've got to go."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen:

Buffy sat across from Angel at a table in one of the nicer restaurants in town. She couldn't help but look around her nervously, her eyes scanning the faces of the men around her, wondering if one of them could be the man who was going to try to take her.

"Stop being so nervous," Angel laughed, reaching out and taking her hand, though he too scanned the faces around them. He picked out the plains clothes detectives though, knowing each one of them, since he hand picked them for this detail.

"I just can't believe you brought me out to dinner," she said, picking up the glass of wine he'd ordered her and taking a sip of the bright fruity liquid. "I figured once I got off those steps I'd never see the sun again until he's behind bars."

"Well, enjoy it," Angel sai then grinned. "We're eating on the department tonight."

The waitress stepped up as if waiting for his cue, her pad and pencil ready, a huge smile on her lips as her eyes took him in. They settled on Buffy for a moment before sliding right over her as if she were no threat, and gifting him with a huge, toothy grin, pushing her shoulders back a little more to make the buttons of her white blouse gape over her breasts. "What can I get for you?" she gushed, her voice practice sexy as if she thought every syllable out, dedicating her life to making it sound like sin on toast.

Before Angel could answer, Buffy spoke up, her voice full of sweetness. "Oh, my honey, is that a hair in your drink?" She reached out, acting like she was pulling something out of his glass, holding it up. "Oh, it must be yours," she said to the waitress. "It's dyed." From the table just behind her, Buffy heard Lindsey snort into his drink, choking on the alcoholic fluid. She smiled up at the waitress, batting her eyes at her while Angel hid his own smile. "I think we could use a moment or two more," he said to the red faced girl who glared at Buffy as she walked away.

"You may want to watch your food," Lindsey said from behind his napkin as he leaned back in his chair as if taking a deep breath.

"Want to switch with me?" Buffy asked him, elbowing him lightly in the back as he crowded her some.

"I really don't think so," he snorted before moving back towards his table.

"You two have gotten close," Angel said, trying to make it sound like idle conversation as he perused his menu.

"Well, him being the short stick and all, we've both kind of been bored." Buffy settled her elbows on the table, settling her chin down on her hands and looking at him. "So what kind of fun thing are we going to do after this, go for a walk down a dark alley? Head out to the nearest biker bar? I know, tie me up and plop me down on the tracks to play the Pay The Rent game?"

"Buffy," Angel began, his voice low.

"I know. I signed up for this, it's just a little nerve wracking knowing that he could be out there and I don't know who he is. I'll be fine." She plopped open her menu staring unseeingly at the selections.

"Have you decided?" A young man's voice came from over Buffy's shoulder and she jerked, her arm hitting his hands and knocking his pad and pen out of them.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," she said, hiding her face in her hands. She counted to ten and then looked up at Angel from under the thick fan of her lashes. She heard Lindsey snort again from behind her and wanted to turn and glare at him, but didn't. She wasn't supposed to know him. She was supposed to be here on a romantic evening out with her boyfriend, not as the department's "sitting duck" as she liked to think of herself.

"It's okay, honey," Angel said, reaching out and patting her hand. "She's a little nervous. I told her I have something important to talk to her about tonight and she's been a wreck since then."

Buffy gave him a stare that should have froze him to the spot, instead he grinned like an unrepentant little boy.

"It's the baby that does it," she said to the waiter after sending a sweet smile towards Angel. "Pregnancy makes me jumpy." She heard Lindsey snort yet again and leaned closer to the waiter. "You might want to ask the gentleman behind me if he's okay, I keep hearing him choking."

"I will, thank you," the young waiter said, blushing. "Congratulations," he turned and walked away from them, stopping by Lindsey's table to lean down and say something to him that had Linds laughing.

"You know, baby, if you keep doing this, we'll never get our food."

"I'm not very hungry," she sighed, staring around the room once more.

"But you've got to eat, love. If only for the baby's sake?"

Buffy burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."

"It's okay," he said, grinning widely. "I love a woman who can think on her feet. Now how about some soup, you haven't eaten much today at all."

"Okay, mother," she sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I'll eat, okay?"

The waiter came back and they gave him their orders, trying to act nonchalant, like a couple just enjoying a night out after work. They didn't discuss "the case" but it was there between them, like the pink elephant no one wants to admit to seeing. They talked about things that people in love discuss, family, stories of growing up, anything but work.

All the while, Buffy stared around the dining room, her hands fidgeting with her napkin, pulling apart the small hem until Angel took her hands in his. "It's okay, Buffy. There are enough cops in here to make a donut shop happy. You're safe." He took a last sip of his coffee and glanced at his watch.

"It's time?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"I just have to make a quick trip to the ladies room," she said, dropping her napkin on the table. She picked up her purse, bending to give him a fast kiss before heading to the back of the restaurant.

Angel paid the bill, pocketing the receipt and leaving a healthy tip. He was ready to go when she returned, picking up her jacket and holding it for her to slip her arms into the sleeves. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and walked her to the front of the restaurant. "Wait here," he told her. "I'm going to go get the car. I'll be right back."

The cool night air felt good on her skin after the heat of the restaurant. She sighed, staring around her, ever watchful. She saw Lindsey come out and smiled politely at him. He walked by her and stood as if waiting for a cab to come by, though she knew he'd driven his own car to the restaurant.

Every sound seemed so loud, every person who walked by her was suspect. She jumped when a hand brushed her back, turning to see a guy, probably no older than a teenager smile and give her a wink. She frowned at him, then turned to watch for Angel once more.

It happened suddenly, a party of twelve that had also been in the restaurant celebrating during a rehearsal dinner for a happy young couple, pushed out of the restaurant in a big crowd. They seemed to almost surround her, pushing her away from the stairs that led into the restaurant and out closer to the street. The car came from nowhere, it pulled up next to her, the door opening and a hand reaching out, grabbing her and yanking her into the car and across the driver's lap. The door slammed shut and the driver made to gun the engine.

Lindsey stepped out, directly in the path of the car, his badge raised, his gun drawn.

He never got off a shot. The gun was jarred from his hand by the impact of the car, landing to skitter across the pavement. His body was thrown forcibly in the air, rolling to come down hard across the hood of the car. He slammed into the windshield before being flicked off the car as the driver hit the brakes. He hit the pavement hard, hearing the snap of more bones break against the concrete. He screamed as he rolled, trying to get away from the tires of the car and felt something seem to almost pop inside of him. The pain was terrible, and he fought for consciousness for one instant in time before the blackness became unstoppable. Fuck! We've lost her! was his last conscious thought.

Angel was running before he heard the first squeal of the tires. He'd known what was going to happen as soon as the crowd of people had pushed through the door. He reached the scene just as the car was careening around the corner, hearing the screams of the witnesses with half an ear. Running over to Lindsey, he put his hand on the man's shoulder, bending down.

It didn't take much to determine that he was in bad shape. Angel grabbed his cell, radioing in for back up and for an officer down call. "Hang on, Linds," he said, squatting down next to him.

Plain clothes cops seem to come from everywhere, gathering around them. Angel growled at them, giving them crowd duties and to take statements. He could only hope that the small tracking device that they'd put in the bottom of Buffy's purse as a last resort was working and they had a team out right now following it. If not? He hated to think that far ahead.

Sirens came from the distance as the officer down call was relayed. He sent detectives to interview the crowd of people who'd stepped from the restaurant and anyone else seen on the streets, hoping someone caught a car description or a license plate number. The ambulance showed and Lindsey was carted aboard strapped to a backboard with a thick white collar around his neck. He hadn't regained consciousness. The EMTs had put oxygen on him, starting a line of saline solution as a just incase. They'd splinted his leg to keep it stationary and had him set up to a heart monitor. Angel watched as they left the scene, Lindsey's duty weapon in his hand.

How had everything gone south so fast?

* * *

She struggled, using every tool in her arsenal of self defense to get away. But he was too strong, too determined and too in control. He hit her, bloodying her nose, blacking her eye, but still she fought. Finally, he managed, while driving with one hand, to pull out a cloth, plastering it to her face, over her nose. Things grew foggy quick and she knew, from the strange smell coming from the cloth, that it was drugged with something. She tried to pull his hand away but couldn't budge it. Finally she could do nothing but give in to the darkness that pulled at her.

Her head slumped, her eyes rolled back into her head before closing and she relaxed completely against the seat.

He took a deep breath, dropping the cloth to her lap and ran his hand through his hair. He had to dump this car and do it quickly. It was a good thing he'd stolen it before checking out the restaurant earlier. Damage like this done to his own car would be hard to explain.

He drove to the small alley where he'd left his car, picking up Buffy with one arm around her waist, as if she were no more than a little drunk. Scanning the area and seeing no one, he flipped the trunk release and draped her inside, her hair falling across her face and hiding it from his sight. That was okay. He had her now. They had a lot of time to get to know each other. They had the rest of their lives.

He slammed the lid closed, taking the time to wipe out the car he'd stolen, moving the seat back so it looked like a much taller man had driven it, moving the steering wheel up a ways as if his stomach needed to fit under it. He changed the setting of the mirrors, wiped off anywhere he might have touched and then brushed a lint roller over the seats to pick up any stray hairs. He even turned the stereo system all the way up and left it on the most bible thumping Christian station he could find. That should give them a thrill when they turned on the ignition, he thought with an uncharacteristic glee.

Now, he had to get home with his prize. He was glad he'd fucked Cassie earlier, it had taken the edge off so that even this thrill ride, while having his dick hard with his success, wasn't affecting his thoughts as it usually did.

Getting back in his car, he took the time to smooth down his hair, brushing a bit of dirt off of his cheek and straightening his shirt. Then he calmly started his car, making sure his seat belt was on and left the alley. He took a long and circuitous route home, wanting to be sure that anyone following wasn't following him. Then he opened his garage door, drove the car inside and closed it behind him. Waiting until it was fully down, he opened his car door and got out, hitting the release on the trunk as he stepped up to it. He let it pop open on his own, glancing behind him to check out the windows of the garage.

"Okay, you son of a bitch. Back up and put your hands on your head!"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

Angel led the group of heavily armed and protected men and women as they converged upon the alley. Buffy's tracer unit pinpointed her exact location as being here but he had his doubts. Why would they be in an alley, there was no reason for it? They swarmed all over the car, shouts of "Clear!" sounding in the late night air. Angel kicked the tire, swearing a blue streak. It was another dead end in a long line of dead ends.

"This is the car," another detective called, pulling Buffy's bag out of the front seat.

"Yeah, Lindsey's blood is on the front grill and on the windshield, but we got blood inside too."

"Get a crime scene unit down here, now! And everyone back away from the car. I don't want any evidence fouled because of one of us." He paced back and forth in the mouth of the alley. "Damn, where is she?"

* * *

"Prick!" she said, climbing out of the trunk of the car slowly, keeping the gun trained upon the man's chest. "You broke my goddamn nose."

"Who are you?" he asked her, watching as she pulled off the long, blonde wig that he'd thought was Buffy's hair as he'd sat down the street from the restaurant. He'd taken big chances tonight, but when they'd been presented, he couldn't help but take them. It had seemed fate when McKenna had left her side, leaving her standing in the pool of light from the streetlight, almost as if waiting for him to come and grab her. Then, those people coming out of the restaurant, crowding around her, pushing her towards the street, how could he pass up such a chance when it had presented itself?

"Detective Faith Lehane, prick, and you are under arrest. Turn around and face the garage door." Faith waited until he did before quickly scanning the dark interior of the garage, searching for something to use to restrain him. If only she'd managed to keep hold of Buffy's purse. Her identification and, more importantly, her handcuffs were in that bag.

A small bag of long, plastic zip ties caught her eye. They weren't as long as the ones they used on the force to subdue suspects, but they might work. She backed towards them, keeping him in the unwavering sights of the gun. She would have to drop it when she went to put him in the ties, but standing here with him loose while she waited for back up made her even more nervous. She grabbed three of the long ties, devising a system that would be far more humane than the one he used on his victims.

"What is your name?" she asked him, slowly coming closer to him.

He turned his head, squinting at her with those eerie eyes. "What color is your hair?" he asked. He couldn't tell, she had it up under a thick hairnet designed to keep it confined under the wig she'd worn.

"None of your fucking business, pervert. Now, let's try this again. What's your name?" She stood behind him, pressing the barrel of the gun against his back and urging him forward until he was pressed against the thin metal door.

"Benjamin."

"Benjamin, what?"

"What color is your hair?" he asked her again, cocking his head slowly to the side as he looked at her.

Faith almost shivered before she stopped herself. He was creepy in the extreme. "Okay, Benny Boy. If you don't want to tell me anymore, we'll get the rest out of you at the station. I can't believe someone like you won't be in the system, maybe as a juvenile offender? Now, we are going to do something here and you are going to cooperate or I'm going to put a bullet in you, got me?" He didn't answer, just stared at her impassively. She sighed. "I'm going to give you these zip ties and you are going to fasten one around each wrist and then put the third inside one of the other two than put your hands behind your back while I finish the job. If you try anything," she warned him, "anything at all, I will shoot you."

She waited, watching him.

He nodded, his eyes blank and staring at her. She handed him the first zip tie, watching as he pulled it tight around his wrist. The second zip tie went on the same way. Then she handed him the third. He slipped it under one of the others before turning his back and holding his hands behind him.

Faith tried to fasten it while holding the gun to him but he'd put the other zip tie on too tight and she couldn't get the tie under it. With a hiss of frustration, she took one look at the back of his head, shoved the gun in the front of the jeans she wore and grabbed the tie with her other hand.

It was ripped from between her fingers, his body twisting so fast she barely had time to blink before seeing the rage in his eyes. His fist smashed into her face even as she fumbled to get to her gun and she fell backwards, hitting the cold cement hard. It knocked the wind from her, sent her skidding back along the hard cement until her back hit the rear end of the car. Then he was standing over her, his hands yanking at the hairnet she wore, pulling it free and then pulling her up, the zip tie in his hands. Before she could fight him, he had her wrists expertly tied, the plastic digging in painfully to the soft flesh. He bent, grunting as he hefted her slim body over his shoulder and headed for the house.

* * *

Buffy stood as if a guard over the battered body of her new friend. Lindsey had gone down hard, breaking two ribs, his leg, and giving himself a skull fracture to boot. They'd had to reinflate his lung after it had been punctured by one of the jagged edges of rib bone. He was on a machine now to regulate his breathing, tubes feeding him medicine, wires connected to his chest and his finger and another tube coming from under the sheet that covered him and leading to a small bag at the end of his bed. His ribs were bandaged, his head swathed like a mummy, a slight pink cast to part of the white. His face was a mass of scratches and his legs were covered in road rash.

"Linds, buddy," she said quietly. "You look like shit. You've got to wake up; the press wants to make you a hero for getting run down by a car. You can't let all those women out there see you like this. It's bad for the image, Linds." A sob shook her shoulders and she sank down on the small chair next to the bed, her hand lying on his limp one.

It had been her idea to come to the hospital and stay with him while Angel followed the tracker unit that Faith had in the purse. They'd switched places in the restaurant bathroom, their plan had been to leave Faith posing as her alone out in front of the restaurant to see if their killer would take the bait. He had, but he wasn't supposed to have gotten Faith in the deal.

When they'd hustled her out of the bathroom, she'd seen Angel, his dark hair mussed from dragging his hand through it in frustration, his eyes worried. He'd walked over to her, touching her cheek for a brief instant of intimacy before telling her what had happened. Then he'd had her brought here. A guard stood outside of the room, protecting both her and Lindsey. But he knew nothing of what was going on, giving her a bored look as he stood watching the nurses as they went about their duties.

Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes, tears of exhaustion and frustrations that just seemed to keep welling. She felt one slide down her cheek, saw it drop onto Lindsey's hand. With a small sniff, she wiped it away, laying her head along the edge of his bed and staring up into his battered face. "Please don't die. I don't think I could handle it if you do."

* * *

Faith struggled and fought, kicking her feet and bashing her head against Ben's back. It was as if she didn't exist, except for the hold he kept around her legs, holding her to his shoulder. He ignored her movements completely, even when she knew she must have done something to him that hurt.

She caught glimpses of the house as they moved through it. It was a normal, nice home with normal furnishings, a television set, a rocker/recliner set in front of it. There was even a nice, normal cat sitting upon the table, washing his paws. The cat looked at her for a moment, then went back to its bath as if its owner dragged bloody women into his house on a daily basis. He kept walking, through a kitchen that had plain white linoleum, dull cabinets and a cookie jar of a cat on the counter. He paused an she heard the sound of a lock turn and then a light clicked on and suddenly he was going through a door and down a flight of stairs.

He dumped her unceremoniously into a hard wooden chair with a high back, pushing her easily back down when she tried to jump up. His hands went to her hair, yanking out the pins so that her long, dark tresses shone in the bright light of the room, falling around her shoulders and into her face.

"Brunette," he said, disgust evident in his tone. "They couldn't even give me a decent decoy."

Faith shook her head, trying to get the hair out of her eyes. With her hands bound behind her, it was almost an impossible task. "Sorry to disappoint you," she hissed, her voice hoarse with pain and fear, though she put up a brave front.

"Shut up," he said quietly, staring at her.

Her eyes narrowed and she wanted to scream at him but she kept quiet, squirming under the intensity of his stare.

"You're pretty I suppose. Tara might like you." He reached behind him and onto a shelf. Before she knew what he was about, he had her pinned to the chair, a pair of scissors snipping in front of her face. "Unless you want me to use these to snip you open and see what color your insides are, you might want to hold still."

The scissors were huge and silver, dressmaker shears, she thought, knowing that they could, indeed, cut her open. She nodded her head. They were cold against her skin as he snipped through her clothing, starting at her pants. He used the shears to start the cuts, yanking at the fabric with his incredibly strong hands. When he was finished, she sat before him in nothing but a red silk bra and matching panties.

Faith longed for the use of her hands, not to cover herself up but to fight this maniac. She was helpless, a feeling that never sat well with the feisty detective. "Got your thrills yet, Benny?" she asked him, angry.

He sighed. "I don't need another girl, especially one with such bland brown hair." He said the color as if it were the most foul thing in the world. "You were supposed to be my Buffy. She was going to be mine forever, but you took her place." He tilted his head to the side, studying her. "Why did you do that?"

"Because someone needs to take scumbags like you off the streets, and protect innocent lives like those girls you murdered. Is there any better reason? You know, Benjamin," she said, her voice growing softer, more intimate. "If you were to give yourself up to me, I'm sure we could make a deal, take the death penalty off the books and make sure you got life in some cushy institution somewhere."

"Give myself up? Darlin', there ain't nothing further from my mind," he said, the Texas accent coming out heavily. He reached out suddenly, turning the chair to where she could see Tara and Cassie, their arms wrapped around their naked bodies, watching every move he made with a look of horror upon their faces. "See, my two babies over there, they're sore. I've over used them the past couple of days and I was hoping for someone new to play with for a while."

Faith took in the bruises and contusions, the terror in the young Cassie's eyes and the determination in Tara's. "And you thought I'd be willing to what, ride you like a bucking bronco?" she asked him.

He threw back his head, laughing at her use of the western vernacular. "Nice try, but the only one that will ride me will be my Buffy."

"You'll never get your hands on her, Benny. McKenna will see to that. He wouldn't let anything happen to her."

"Ah yes, Angel McKenna. Isn't he the wonderful cop in charge of you tonight? Hmm, I think he might have fucked up a little bit," he said, tapping his finger against his lips. "I mean, if he hadn't fucked up, I wouldn't have YOU!" he shouted, spraying her face with spittle as he loomed over her.

Faith cowered back in the chair, trying to keep up her mien of the tough detective, but inside she was quaking with fear. She was helpless, almost nude, and in the hands of a man who was known to have killed six women. She tried to force her numb and aching head into thinking but the only thing that came through the haze of fear was the voice of her Behavioral Psych teacher. "Don't rile the deviant." he used to always say. "Yeah, you're right. Angel did fuck up tonight," she said, trying to add disgust into her words.

Ben only nodded his head, reaching down and palming her breast in his hand.

Faith tried to jerk away but the chair was at her back. She was trapped by his body with no where to go. "Don't," she said before she could stop herself.

He laughed, a chilling sound that sent goose flesh over her cold skin. "Ah, begging already, and I haven't even gotten started. You might be more fun than I thought, Detective." He peeled the cup down slowly, exposing the plump mound, his fingers twiddling over her nipple. "Very nice."

"Sorry to not disappoint you," she hissed, hating the way his warm fingers felt against her skin.

"Good, I'd hate to have you give in so quickly. It's such a disappointment to me when they don't fight or squirm when I sink my cock into them." He pulled out the front of her bra, quickly sliding the shears into the gap and snipping it open. He pushed the two halves off of her breasts, exposing them to his eyes, the ruined material falling over her hands and catching on the zip tie that bound her wrists. "What do you think, Tara? Would you do her?" He backed away from the chair, letting the girl get a good look at his latest prize. "She's got spunk like you, not like little Cassandra in there." He bent over Faith as if telling her a secret. "Tara's gay, I killed her lesbian lover when I took her from their bed. She's a good little fuck though, so maybe she's bisexual instead. You know, I just can't keep up with it anymore, bisexual, gay, hetero, it's a big mess out there."

"Yeah and you probably only like vanilla ice cream, too," Faith said, not hiding the disgust she felt for the man from her voice.

"Ah, oh good one, nice come back, Detective. You'd better hope I find that brunettes do okay or your time in this world will be ending very God damn soon." He knelt in front of her, pushing her thighs apart with his hands. His fingers went to the crotch of her panties, rubbing against them, pushing them into the slit between her thighs. His lips went to her breast, sucking in one of her full pink nipples, chewing on the soft flesh and hearing her cries of pain. "Beg me to stop," he ordered her, biting down on her nipple.

Faith tried to stay quiet but the pain was intense, welling through her in big strong waves, too harsh to ignore. "Stop!" she screamed, "please, stop!"

* * *

Angel left the alley, his stride determined. Someone had to see something and he was going to knock on every door around until he found something. He grabbed a couple of uniforms that were just milling around, taking them with him into the apartment building next to the alley. "Okay, you guys are going to take every other floor." He handed them copies of the artist's sketch. "I want you pounding on doors and taking statements. Talk to everyone in the apartments no matter how old. If they can talk, they can be a witness, understand?" He pointed towards the stairs, watching them hurry away and then went to the first floor apartment.

He pounded on the door. "Police, open up, I need to speak with you." As soon as it was opened, he shoved his copy of the artist's rendering into the face of the man who stood there. "Did you see this man tonight?"

He shook his head, starting to close his door but Angel shoved his foot in. "Do you have anyone else living here with you?"

"Yeah, my wife and she ain't seen nothing either. We've been watching Jeopardy until you people showed up with your sirens and lights going, interrupting people from enjoying their evenings." He started to close the door again but Angel reached out and hauled him up by his shirt.

"Listen, a young woman was kidnapped tonight. The car that was used is parked outside your building, almost right outside your apartment windows. Now, you're telling me you've been here all night and you haven't seen nothing?"

"He didn't, but I did." The voice was tiny, coming from behind the big man in the doorway. Angel glanced down, seeing the owner of the voice. An older woman who was at least sixty or seventy looked up at him.

Angel let go of her husband, seeing the man run his hand over his chest before stepping back so the woman could come forward.

"Natalie, you don't have to do this," he said, holding his hand out to her.

"Yes, I do. Now let the nice detective in so we can talk like civilized people." She led the way down a long hallway and into a nice apartment that was startling compared to the harsh exterior of the building. The room was warm, with hand crocheted doilies decorating every table top and silk flowers in wicker baskets displayed everywhere.

"Detective...?" Natalie asked, holding out her hand and offering him a seat upon a comfortable looking sofa.

"Angelus McKenna, ma'am. You can call me Angel if you'd like," he said, sitting down and pulling out his notebook. "Can you tell me what you saw?"

"I was doing the dinner dishes, my husband there was setting up the cards. We like to play after dinner and I heard a noise from out in the alley. Normally, we keep the blinds closed; it's not a nice neighborhood after dark anymore. But it's such a beautiful night, I opened the window a bit for some air."

Angel nodded. His pen poised over the paper, he waited.

"I'm sorry, Detective, I'll get to it. A man, he was like the man in your picture but his hair wasn't so wild nor was he so dark skinned. He had something in his arms that he dumped into the trunk of another car. Then he got in the first one and was doing something. I think he was wiping off finger prints, like they do in those crime shows on television." She took her husband's hand into her own, twining their fingers together.

"Did you see a make on the car?" he asked.

"No, I don't know much about cars. My husband does all the driving."

"What about a plate number? Can you remember any of it?"

"Uh, the letters, I think ... A R S. I remember because I love roses and I thought, how lovely, 'A RoSe.'"

"Did you get a color of the car?" Angel asked, writing quickly. "Or maybe was it a two door or a four door?"

"Four and it was dark blue, kind of boring looking, actually."

Angel was smiling. "Natlie, I think I just might love you. If I send someone over here with some pictures of cars, do you think you can look through them?"

"Sure, detective," she said, smiling. "Will I get to come to court and testify too? Like they do on those crime shows?"

"Maybe. I've got to go. I'll be sending a uniformed officer with pictures of those cars." On a whim, he bent, pressing his lips to the old woman's cheek. "You're my hero, lady," he whispered before hurrying from the apartment, already on his radio.

* * *

Natalie French blushed, a lovely shade of pink, her hand rising to her cheek. "He was a nice boy, wasn't he?" she asked of her husband who just glowered and rubbed at his chest.

The old high school teacher paid no mind. He wasn't going to damper this.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen:

"Cassie, my beauty," he said, walking to the cage and unlocking the door. "Come here."

Cassie stared at him in trepidation, fear causing tears to well in her eyes, one sliding down her reddened cheek. She started forward slowly, feeling Tara squeeze her hand before letting her go. She just had to remember what Tara had said. Be calm, do what he says, no matter what and wait for a way to escape. She could do it, she could.

"Very good, sugar tits," Ben said, reaching out and rolling one pretty pink nipple between his fingers, feeling her cringe away from his hands. "Go over to my shelves," he said, pointing toward the shelves by the sink, "and bring me back the small tin snips. You'll know them when you see them, honey," he said, patting her on the ass to get her moving. "Oh, and don't touch anything else over there or I'll be mad," he said, turning his back on the girl.

Cassie did as she was told, she went to the shelves, her feet timid on the cold cement floor. Her nipple tingled from where he'd played with it and she wanted to wipe away the feel of his hand on her skin. But she didn't dare, he might get upset. The shelf was ahead of her and she shook when she saw all that was on it. Scalpels, cutters of all shapes and sizes, scissors, a variety of drill bits and an electric drill with tiny bits of hair and blood still on the motor of the tool. Her hand shook as she reached out, wanting desperately to pick up one of the knives, to run at him and plunge it into his heart, to kill the monster before he could hurt her again. A sob broke from between her lips and her body began to shiver. She turned, seeing his back to her, a target so easy to reach, just a few steps away. Her fingers brushed over the handle of one of the scalpels, almost picking it up, her eyes moving from the shelf of tools to his back over and over.

"Hurry up," he said, his back still turned to her.

She reached out, grabbing it in her hand, turning and staring at his back.

* * *

"The list is still too long," Angel groaned, staring at the pages he held in his hand. On them, hundreds of registered owners of dark blue four door sedans whose license plates ended with the letters "ARS" were printed. "There has to be a way to cull them out."

"Our suspect is neat, his kills are always pristine, even the dump site was clean. I'd say we could get rid of any car older than a 2000." The captain said, standing behind the computer that Angel was working on.

"Okay," Angel said, hitting a few keys on the computer and watching the new list compile. "We still have over two hundred ROs. What about women under the age of twenty?"

"There can't be that many of them on there."

"Yeah, but it's a few we don't have to check out." Angel looked over his shoulder, cocking his eyebrow.

"Okay, do it."

By the time they'd finished, they had just a little over two hundred cars on the list. Angel separated the list into geographical areas before going to the conference room where they'd sat up the huge murder board as well as a map of the city. He walked up to the map, staring at the different colored pins that were placed on it. Green pins had small papers attached marking the names of the victims and where they'd last been seen. A red outline showed the dump site just outside the city limits. Another pin, this one red, showed the restaurant where Buffy worked and where Maggie's body had been found. Still another red pin was placed over Buffy's house. Next to it was a printed timeline, showing dates of kidnappings, estimated time of death as decided upon between the coroner and the etymologist who had been sent samples of the insects found on the bodies and given copies of the crime scene photos.

"Killers stalk in areas that they are comfortable in," he muttered under his breath. "They stick to familiar hunting grounds, known routes and access ways. Our guy is no different from any other of these predators." Angel reached out, picking up a marker from the tray in front of the map. He circled the green pins, adding in the small red pins, ignoring the outline of the dump site. When he finished, he picked up another marker, this one dark blue. With it, he drew another circle, this one larger around the circle he'd drawn previously. "I want the list that covers this area," he said to Giles. "Our guy, I'll bet my badge, is here somewhere."

They went through the lists, finding the right one before calling a meeting and sending out men to canvass the streets and find the owners of the cars on the list. Before everyone left, the Captain held up his hand. "I got a call from the hospital. They've taken Lindsey off the critical list. He's stable and holding his own." He smiled as the men cheered and then headed out. He stopped Angel. "I'm riding with you."

"Are you sure, Rupert, I mean, you haven't been out from behind that desk in a while." .

"I was carrying a gun when you were still sucking on your momma's tit." The captain slipped his off duty weapon out of its holster and then pushed it back in, snapping it securely.

"I'll take bad movie lines for two hundred dollars, Alex." He grinned at his boss.

"Just shut up and let's go check out those addresses."

* * *

"Good girl, Cassie," Ben said without looking back at her, holding out his hand. "Give them to me now."

She laid the tin snips in his palm carefully, tears rushing from her eyes and a sob escaping her lips. She'd been so close to grabbing the scalpel and rushing him with it, killing him and then running out of this hell, but in the end, she'd been too scared to disobey him. He turned now, staring down into her eyes.

"I'm very proud of you, Cassie. Now take them back and snip the ties from my wrists." He handed her the tin snips and held up his hands. "Do it carefully, I'd hate to have you cut me."

She slipped the blade between his skin and the tie, sawing at the hard plastic that wouldn't cut through under her pitiful strength. She finally got the one, shaking when she heard his impatient sigh. "I'm trying, sir," she whispered, glancing up at him.

"Sir? I think I like that. Give me those," he said, taking the snips away and easily cutting through the other tie. He reached out and pulled her naked body against him, running his hands down over her back and cupping her ass. He squeezed the firm cheeks, yanking her against his crotch and rubbing against her obscenely. "Thank you, Cassie. You might be worth keeping around here after all."

Cassie stood under his abuse, allowing him to paw her as he wished, unable to do anything to stop him. She sighed in relief at hearing that she had pleased him, but hated the feel of that awful bulge of his against her skin.

"Open my pants, Cassandra. I want you to reach inside and pull out my dick. Show these two ladies how a real woman treats her man," he whispered into her ear, low enough the other two couldn't hear him.

Cassie sniffed back her tears, bringing her hands down and unbuckling his belt and then unfastening his pants. She reached her hand inside, tentatively wrapping it around his hard cock and freeing it from the material of his briefs. When she'd finished what he told her to do, she left her hand on him, afraid to do anything less.

His hips moved, jacking himself off in the smooth hold of her hand, the tip of his cock brushing up against the soft flesh of her smooth pussy. "You're going to be my helper now, dear Cassie." He laughed when she shook her head no, before looking up at him quickly, terror in her eyes. "Go to the detective. I want to see you play with her tits." He turned her in his arms, once more patting her on her firm ass to get her started.

Cassie dropped down in front of the detective who was still sitting in the chair. Her eyes met Faith's dark ones, hers begging for forgiveness for what she was being forced to do. Her hand came out slowly, wrapping gently around Faith's bigger breast, squeezing softly.

"You know, Tara," Ben said, walking over towards the cage and standing where he could watch everything Cassie did. "I never thought I'd be so cliché but there is just something about watching two women together that really does get my dick hard. Especially little one there, she's just so sweet and innocent, isn't she. You tasted her pussy, was it sweet?"

"Yeah," Tara said, though she answered him grudgingly.

"Still the rebel," he laughed, his hand coming down to slowly stroke his cock. "You know, with that attitude, you're going to have to miss out in all the fun. I plan on tasting the good detective over there before I kill her for fucking up my plans tonight. You three could really show me some good lesbian action if you were of the mind to cooperate nicely, Tara." He didn't wait for her answer, instead going to one of his cameras and turning it on. "On your feet, sugar tits, bend over at the waist and play with them pretty titties of the detectives." He aimed the camera carefully, then walked around it and stepped up behind Cassie. Sliding his hand from her waist, he rubbed gently over the curve of her hip before slipping his hand between her thighs, pushing his finger into her dry sex. "Oh, Cassie," he sighed, using two fingers to force in and out of her. "I had so much hope for you and now I find you like this. Dry as a bone," he sighed again, pulling out of her to hold his fingers up.

Cassie had stiffened as he'd forced his disgusting fingers inside of her, unable to stop herself from yelping in pain from his invasion of her flesh. Another smaller cry erupted from between her parted lips as he slammed his hand down on her ass, a nice red welt forming quickly against her pale skin.

"Do I need to bring Tara out here to get you wet? Is it only women who can get you off now, little girl?" He rubbed the welt he'd made, enjoying the heat of it against his hand. "Answer me!" he snarled, surprising her and making her jump.

"N-no, sir," she sniffled, turning to glance at him from over her shoulder. "I-I'll try ha-harder sir."

He sighed loudly, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her to move her out of the way. "I know you will," he said, turning her in his arms. He found her mouth with his, kissing her harshly, tasting blood on his tongue from where the split on her lip opened under his abuse. "Now, I have a huge decision to make," he said, when he lifted his head, his strange eyes lighting upon each of his kidnapped beauties. "I have too many toys." He touched Cassie's lip with his finger, wiping up the smear of blood and licking it off. "How am I going to decide which one of you I should keep?"

"Y-you could let me go, sir. I wouldn't tell anyone. I promise," Cassie whispered quickly.

Ben slapped his hand down once more on her ass, the force of the blow making her jerk against him, rubbing against his exposed cock. "Cassandra, that was a rhetorical question, in other words, shut your fucking trap." He moved away from the warmth of her body, turning back to the detective. Her breasts were heaving with the harshness of her breaths, her body flushed with shame and her face tight, but when he looked into her eyes, all he saw was anger. It made him feel more powerful, that helpless anger and the way she sat, her knees together, her shoulders straight, not trying to hide her body. With a grin, he reached down, forcing her to her feet, turning so she stood in front of him with her back to him. Using her bound arms, he forced her to bed over, quickly ripping off the panties she wore and exposing the pale flesh of her ass. Rubbing his cock in the cleft between her thighs, he heard her small whimper and reveled in her fear.

* * *

The house was set in a small neighborhood subdivision built back in the fifties with small two to three bedroom ranches being the style of the day. It didn't look as if much had been done to it besides painting the trim and keeping up the lawn, the brick still the original pink that had been all the rage back then. Angel stood outside, his police instincts on overtime. He got a vibe from this house unlike any of the others he'd gotten. They had about ten houses left on their list, he was tired, his stomach hurt from the coffee he'd drank all day and he had a major yearning to pick up Buffy, take her back to his place and fall asleep in her arms.

"It feels different," the captain said from beside him.

"Yeah, it feels evil," Angel said, taking the first step up the driveway towards the house. "I'm going to see if I can see inside the garage, see if our suspect's vehicle is in there.

"I got your back."

Angel checked the windows of the garage, annoyed that they were tinted making it almost impossible to see anything inside except for shadows. A huge shadow seemed to be a vehicle but he couldn't see the license plate much less the numbers on it. Still, the house just didn't feel right.

"Benjamin Wilkinson, 32, is the registered owner here," the captain said quietly. "That puts him solidly in the age range of the profile we got on the killer."

Angel nodded absently, his mind on what could be going on inside. Making up his mind, he headed toward the front door. There was a lighted doorbell next to the old fashioned metal screen door and he hit it with his finger.

* * *

The buzzer at the top of the stairs went off, startling him, making him jump slightly. He pulled his cock out of the detective's sweet pussy, yanking up his pants. "Get in the cage, all three of you," he ordered hoarsely, trying to stuff his cock back into the confines of material and zip up. "If I hear a single peep out of you, anything, even a whisper of a sound, all three of you will pay for it," he warned, quickly locking the door behind the detective. He stood for just a second, watching how Cassie huddled against Tara and the sneer that was on the waitress's face. "Not a sound, Tara," he warned her specifically, wiping the light sheen of sweat on a towel he picked up from a shelf.

He dropped it on the floor and headed to the stairs just as the buzzer sounded again.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Tara asked Faith, holding out her hand to the dark brunette who stumbled over and sat on the cot.

"Yeah," she said, though the shock of the rape was in her eyes. She fought to ignore the pain both in her wrists and arms as well as coming from between her thighs. "Are you two okay?"

"I'd be better if I'd wake up from this nightmare," Cassie said, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"You did real well out there, Cass," Tara told her. "Just do as he says, no matter what. Don't fight him and you should be okay."

"You fight him," Cassie argued.

"Yeah, and I'm going to keep fighting him, the slimy prick. He killed the only person I've ever truly loved," she snarled, her eyes staring at the now closed doorway at the top of the stairs. "If I get the chance, that bastard will be going to hell, preferably with that disgusting dick of his stuffed down his throat."

* * *

He answered the door after glancing quickly in the mirror to make sure he looked all right. He saw the blood on his shirt and quickly stripped out of it, throwing it in the bathroom and kicking off his shoes as well. Using his hands on his hair, he mussed it as if he'd just woken up. Then he went to the door just as the doorbell binged for the fourth time.

"Yes?" he said, making sure to add a little ire to his voice.

"Benjamin Wilkinson?"

"Yeah, who wants to know?"

Angel flipped open his badge, noting that the captain did the same. "Detective Angel McKenna and Captain Rupert Giles. We need to ask you some questions, sir. Do you mind if we come in?"

"Hell yes, I mind. I was sleeping. What's this about?"

"Do you own a dark blue Ford Taurus with the license plate 881 ARS?"

Ben narrowed his eyes as if he were thinking. "I got a Taurus but I'm not sure of the plate number. Why?"

"Where is the car, sir?"

"Listen, I'm not answering anymore questions until you tell me why you want to know about my car." He crossed his arms across his bare chest, his manner belligerent. But inside his brain was racing. How had they found out about his car?

"A car matching the description of yours was used tonight in a kidnapping. Is your car in the garage sir?"

"My car?" he asked, putting a big dose of surprise into the words. "You think I kidnapped someone?"

Angel wanted to grab the man and throw him against the wall. He was lying, he knew it, he just couldn't prove it yet. "Yes sir," he said, still being respectful. "Is your car in the garage?"

"Yeah," Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face as if he were tired and now cooperating with the police. "I parked it in there right after I got out of work today. I haven't been sleeping all that well and decided to go to bed early tonight."

"May we see the car, sir?"

"Why?" Shit, Ben thought. They walk in and touch the hood and they'll know it's recently been ran. It hadn't been too long since he'd gotten home with the detective slut in the basement.

"We need to verify it's there, sir."

"Check in the window of the garage, it's there." He made as if to close the front door, stopping only when Angel's hand blocked it from closing completely. "What?"

"I need to inspect the vehicle, sir. I'm sorry if we are keeping you but there's a girl out there who's been taken from her family and I'm just trying to do my job and get her back in one piece."

"You got a warrant?"

"No, but I can get one if you wish. Of course, then I'm going to be wondering why you're throwing such a huge fit about letting us see the car and I might have that warrant extended to the house and it's contents as well." Angel let that sentence hang, waiting.

"Fine. Go out front and I'll open the garage door. It might take me a couple minutes. I broke some glass out there this morning and haven't cleaned it up yet. I gotta find some shoes to wear." He shut the door, this time, slamming it hard.

* * *

"He's dirty on something," the captain said, turning toward the garage.

"You caught that, too? Wanna bet he makes us wait before he opens the door?"

"Do I got sucker written on me anywhere?"

He did make them wait, so long that Angel was ready to go back to the house and knock again, but finally the door to the garage slid open slowly. Benjamin stood in front of his car, blocking their way to the rest of the garage. "See, it's here. Now, do you mind if I get back to sleep? I have to be into work early tomorrow." He scowled at Angel as the man stepped forward and dropped his hand on the lid of the trunk.

"You know, captain, it seems to me that Mr Wilkinson here doesn't want us here. You think maybe he has something to hide?"

"It sure does look that way," Giles said, moving off to the side a little to split the man's focus. He turned as if looking at the walls of the garage, wanting to give Angel some time to check out the rest of the garage.

"Hey! I let you two see the car, now, unless you have a warrant, I want you off of my property!" Ben picked up his arm, pointing towards the wide open doorway.

Angel stared at Rupert who nodded. "Okay, sir," he said, holding his hands out in a placating way. "You have to understand, it's a female detective, one of our own, who was taken tonight. We have to check out every lead."

"She must not be that great a cop if she let's herself get kidnapped," Ben scoffed, heaving a silent sigh of relief as they started towards the door.

Angel turned, his expression hardening. He opened his mouth as if to make a scathing remark, managing to stop himself at the last moment. "Thank you for your time, sir," he said, his voice acidic. They started walking down the doorway, feeling his eyes on them, watching them. Angel glanced at his captain. "I think it's time to take Benjamin Wilkinson's life apart, what do you think?"

"I think I'm putting an unmarked on this guy. He's dirty and now we got to prove it."

"Yeah, before anymore bodies show up."

* * *

Ben closed the garage door quietly, his body tight as anger flooded him. How dare they think to invade his privacy? How dare they question him or touch his things? He stared at the spot on the floor that he'd stood on while they'd been in his garage. If there had only been one, he'd have killed him, but with two, he'd been forced to stand in front of the drops of blood on the back of his car, blood from that bitch's nose.

His hands flexed and closed into impotent fists as he thought of the two men in his private domain. Then he opened the door to the house, an eerie smile starting upon his face, a smile that promised death.

Humming, he locked it behind him and headed for the basement once more.

* * *

Buffy barely stirred when Angel slid his hand down her back, mumbling his name in her sleep. The captain had sent him home after almost twenty hours straight on the case, telling him to come back in fresh in the morning. He'd fought it, but then Giles had reminded him of Buffy and the fact that she was still at the hospital with Lindsey. Now all he could think about was taking her home and climbing into bed, wrapping himself around her and going unconscious for four hours.

"Buffy?" he murmured, kissing her cheek.

"Angel?" Buffy sat up, blinking her tired, red rimmed eyes. "Did you find her?"

"No, not yet," he said. "How's Linds doing?" he nodded toward the still form on the bed hooked up to machines and medicine by tubes and wires.

"He's going to make it, they say. He hasn't come to yet, but they'd rather he didn't until they can make sure his lung isn't going to collapse again. They don't want him fighting the ventilator."

Angel held his hand out to her, helping her to her feet and noting her wince when she stretched out. "They should have given you a bed," he said.

"No, I thought I'd sit with him, just in case he woke up."

He wrapped an arm over her shoulder, steering her towards the door. "The captain sprung me until morning. Want to go home, climb into bed with me and sleep for a few hours?"

"Sleep?" she asked, her eyebrows arching.

"Hmm, and anything else that might come up along the way," he said, smiling as he nuzzled her neck.

She held him for a moment, sharing her strength with him. He kissed her, lingering a moment as he let her fresh taste and soft lips distract him from the ugliness of his job. "Let's go home," he whispered, lifting his head.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen:

Buffy arched her back, her eyes opening to see Angel above her, his hands stroking the hair from her face. He moved against her and she felt that wonderful tingling sensation again, the same sensation that had roused her from sleep. With it, she realized he was buried deeply inside her body, his cock thrusting in long, slow strokes that had called her from the sensual dreams she was having into the wonderful reality of being in his arms.

"It's about time you woke up," he growled, nipping at her lips. "I was beginning to think I'd lost my touch." His hand stroked over her throat and then lower, finding her taut tipped breasts and squeezing one plump nipple gently.

"Oh no, you've still got the touch," she gasped, grinding her hips up against his. "That feels so good," she moaned, her hands going to his back and sliding over the flexing muscles of his ass. She squeezed his tight cheeks, letting her fingers trail between, sliding over the puckered furl hidden there.

It was Angel's turn to gasp and moan, his teeth sinking deftly into the flesh of her neck, biting down but not breaking the skin. "You're going to make me come," he growled, fighting the need that demanded he pound into her sweet core until he spewed his seed into her depths.

"Not yet," she answered him, rubbing her body against his, pressing her nipples into his chest. She pushed him away, laughing at the startled look on his face and going to her knees, turning her back to him to give him a come hither look over her shoulder. "Fuck me hard, Angel," she demanded, grabbing hold of the headboard of his bed as he came up behind her.

"You want it hard?" he growled into her ear. His hand came down against her ass, slapping her lightly. "Spread your legs for me, baby."

"Hmmm, yeah," she moaned, feeling him rubbing the head of his cock over the wetness of her slit, hitting the taut hard flesh of her clit and making her shiver. He shoved against her, burying his cock inside of her with one thrust that had her back arching, her head coming back until she almost touched him. His hands were on her breasts, squeezing them, mauling them, pulling on her nipples until they stood up in swollen surrender to his mastery. He held her to him, his hard thrusts shaking her body, their mingled groans and heavy pants the only sound in the quiet apartment. His hand slid down her body, caressing the soft skin of her stomach before pushing into the dark curls between her thighs, finding her clit and rolling it under his thumb. She couldn't breath; his body pounded into hers, his hand excited her, sending shooting sparks to mix with the tension in her belly until she thought she'd explode. She rocked against his hand, pressed back into his body, rolling her head against his chest until with one final thrust, she skyrocketed into ecstasy.

Angel felt the contractions of her sex around his cock and pumped into her furiously, holding her to him and throwing back his head as he too, came. He shot his seed into her, pouring out the frustrations and turmoil of the past few days, feeling the stress flood out of him as the pleasure flowed in. He held her tight, his big body shaking, slumping against her, one hand planted against the wall as his legs felt weak. "My God, girl," he panted, kissing her ear. "You'll be the death of me."

Buffy grinned weakly. "Old man," she sighed. "Gotta work on your stamina," she said, squealing when he retaliated by running his whiskered covered face over her shoulder.

"You wait until this case is over, little girl, then I'll show you old." He felt his cock soften, sliding out of her and settled backward, rolling on his side and dragging her with him. His hand stroked over her skin, his face buried in her hair, he sighed deeply.

"You'll catch him. If anyone could, it'll be you." She turned her head, staring at him over her shoulder.

Angel kissed her gently. "I'll do my best. I just hope my best will be good enough." He'd told her some of what had happened when he'd driven her home the night before but they'd both been so tired, it had been almost too much trouble to undress before falling into his big bed and cuddling together in the center.

She glanced over at the clock, groaning at the red numbers displayed prominently there. "It's just past six, are you nuts?"

"About you," he whispered, kissing her cheek and then her lips.

She melted against him, her lips parting under his, her tongue tangling with his. When he lifted his head, she sighed. "In spite of the nastiness of being woke up at this hour of the morning, that's one hell of a wake up."

"I could get used to it," Angel said, his tongue flicking against her earlobe before he rolled away from her. "But I've got to get up, no matter how much I'd love to spend the day in bed with you."

"Where am I going today?" she asked, sitting up and watching him reach for his robe. His body was hard, muscular without being overly cut and put to rest most of the jokes she'd ever heard about cops and donuts.

Angel turned, his eyes roaming over her soft curves and luscious skin. He sighed thinking about how much he'd like to take her away from this, somewhere where they could go and be a couple, play in the water, drink fruity drinks filled with way too much rum and make love under the moon. He knew that Buffy would be beautiful in a bikini, a flower behind her ear and a warm smile of welcome upon her sweet lips. "I'm almost positive that this creep we interviewed last night is our suspect. We just don't have anything on him yet, not enough for a search warrant. I don't want to give some defense lawyer room to wiggle him out of a conviction."

Buffy slipped her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, feeling his spendings slide down her thighs, reminding her of the wonderful way he'd woken her. "You'll get him. And since I don't want you to worry, I can go and spend the day with Lindsey again." She smiled. "He's much better company now than he used to be."

"I'm going to tell him you said that when he wakes up," Angel said, laughing. "It'll give him some inspiration to get better so he can get even."

"Tattletale," she grouched. She wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning against his tall body. She kissed him slowly, feeling his cock harden against her. "Wanna share the shower?" she whispered against his lips.

"Oh, yeah," he said, lifting her easily and throwing her across his shoulder. When she squealed and tried to fight him, he brought his hand down on her smooth ass, laughing as she cursed the air blue.

But when he had her pinned against the wall of the shower, her legs wrapped around his waist, his cock slowly pistoning into her softness, she was singing another tune. She looked so beautiful with her hair slicked back, her eyes half closed as she watched his face. Her hands were on his shoulders, steadying herself as she thrust back against him, anxious to feel the ecstasy he created within her.

"I like it when you get all manly and dominating," she whispered into his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

He growled softly, his hips flexing with more strength before he pulled from her, forcing her legs back to the floor of the shower. With one hand on her hip, he twirled her around, sliding his wet hand over her ass and down between her thighs. "Spread em," he growled wickedly, making her laugh.

"Oooo are we gonna play good cop, bad cop?"

"Nope, just bad cop," he nipped her shoulder before pushing her forward until she leaned into the spray of hot water. With a grunt, he thrust back inside of her his hands running over her body, exploring every inch he could reach until she was a writhing mass of flesh unable to do anything but feel. Her cries urged him on, her wriggles and shivers only making him thrust harder.

"You're so damn tight," he groaned, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. "I love fucking you like this."

The sound of the water rushing over her head was loud, but she heard the noise anyway. "W-wait," she gasped, holding her hand out behind her. "Did you hear that?"

Angel quit moving, listening even as his body raged at him to continue. "I don't hear anything," he said. "What did you hear?"

"It sounded like a thud, like someone running into a piece of furniture and sending it into the wall."

She gasped as he pulled from her wet body, opening the shower door and reaching for a towel as Buffy leaned down and turned off the water. Angel wrapped the towel around his hips, standing on the bathmat as he listened for a sound in the quiet of his apartment. He was about to turn back to Buffy and make some silly remark about how he'd fucked her into hearing things when another sound caught his attention. His eyes shot to hers as she reached for another towel, not wanting to be naked if there was actually someone breaking into the apartment.

"Stay here," he mouthed at her, his hand out flat as he urged her to stay still.

"Not on your life," she said. "You aren't going out there to leave me in here wondering what the hell is going on. Forget it."

"Buffy, I don't have time to argue with you right now."

"Good, than don't. I'm going with you and that's all there is to it."

"Buffy," he began before seeing the stubborn look on her face. He sighed heavily. "Fine, but stay behind me and promise me, you'll do whatever I tell you to, no questions. Promise?"

"Yeah," she said. "I promise. You got a gun nearby?"

"In the bedroom," he growled, wanting to hit himself for not being more prepared. He walked to the bathroom door, standing with his ear pressed against it, listening intently. No noises could be heard through the door, but that didn't make him feel any better. Someone could be right outside the door and he wouldn't know it until he got the door opened.

He motioned for Buffy back with his hand, silently turning the knob with the other. Pulling gently at the knob, he started to open the door.

He wasn't prepared for it to fly back at him, hitting him square in the forehead. The hard wood sent him flying backwards, black spots clouding his vision as he fought to stay conscious.

"I knew you weren't too smart, Detective," he heard a man's voice say and he fought to open his eyes, to see the man who was now standing over him.

It was him, their suspect, that Benjamin Wilkinson. He held a long dagger in his hand as he stood looking down at Angel. "Thanks for taking care of Buffy for me," he said, turning the dagger in his head and using the end of it to smash into Angel's head.

Pain flared, fast and inescapable, flooding over him like a dense blanket, sucking him down into unconsciousness. The last sound he heard was Buffy's voice, fear making it shrill as she screamed his name.

* * *

"He's coming to," a voice said softly.

A harsh chemical scent filled his nose and he jerked his head away, only to groan as the movement made the world tilt. "What happened?" he muttered the question, his hand raising to find a bandage on his head.

"We were hoping you'd tell us that." Giles knelt beside his injured man, carefully staying away from where the paramedics were working on him. They hadn't wanted to try waking him but he had been adamant, forcing them to use one of the ammonia sticks they had just for such a thing.

"Shower," he muttered. "Buffy was..." He sat up suddenly, so fast his head spun and the room around him grayed, making him nauseous. He gritted his teeth, forcing his stomach to settle and his head to stay on his head instead of bouncing around the room like it felt it was doing. "Benjamin Wilkinson, Captain, he was here. He took her and hit me."

Giles hissed under his breath. "You're sure? Of course you're sure." He got up and took his phone out of his pocket. Flipping it open he hit a number and waited for it to be answered. "This is Capt. Rupert Giles. I need you to put me through to the two guys I have out doing surveillance at Cherry Tree Lane."

The paramedic tried to push Angel back down, but he fought the man. "I'm fine, just finish bandaging it and you're done," he growled.

"Detective, you could have a concussion or worse. You really should have this checked out."

Angel growled again. Then he forced himself to calm. "I will," he said. "As soon as I take care of some business, I'll be happy to."

Giles snapped closed his phone, shoving it back in his pocket. "If it was him, the team never saw him leave his house. As far as they know, he's still in there."

"Well, if he hasn't killed any of the girls he's taken, he has three of them now. It wouldn't be so easy to move three girls, and now he has Buffy too. Where would he take them?"

"Get dressed, if you're sure you don't want to go to the hospital to get checked out. We'll head out to his house and pay him another little visit. I'm going to call for a warrant."

* * *

Faith's eyes were red rimmed and burning, her body ached and the pain between her thighs was almost unbearable. She felt battered, the flesh of her sex bruised and plundered ruthlessly. When Benjamin had come back down the stairs, he'd taken out his rage on all three of them, physically assaulting them in ways too horrible to think about.

She could hear Cassie's sobbing whimpers and Tara's soft crooning from where she sat on the cold floor of the cage he'd locked them in. She could see Tara, her body bruised and bleeding, rocking the younger girl gently in her arms, saying the soothing words that were meaningless in the face of what they'd just faced. Her eyes met Tara's and a look passed between the two women, a look that said all that needed to be said. They were of like mind. If an opportunity came for one of them to kill this bastard, they would take it with no hesitation.

Faith felt his rancid seed on her thighs and couldn't deal with having it there anymore. She got up, not even noticing the way that Cassie flinched as she walked by the two girls, and went to the sink, turning the water on and splashing it over her lower body. The water felt wonderful, stinging just a little at first on the abraded flesh. Then it soothed and cooled her skin, and she gave a small sigh of relief.

"We have to do something."

Faith turned to Tara, her eyes clouded. "Yeah, we do, because the next time he's down here, he really is going to kill one of us. I don't know about you, but I'd like to live a little longer just so I can make this into a nightmare and forget about it."

"So, you're the cop. What should we do?" Tara asked, stroking her hand over Cassie's tangled hair.

The girl's mouth was sore and bruised, her jaw hurting from where it had been almost dislocated by Ben's brutality. He'd taken a surprising glee in slapping and spanking her, welting the soft flesh and causing dark bruises to mar her skin.

"He'll kill us," Cassie whispered, her hand over her mouth.

"Safety in numbers," Faith said softly, staring at the doorway at the top of the basement steps. "That's what my self defense teacher used to say all the time. If you must go out, do it with one or more people, it makes you less of a target. So, we make ourselves less of a target. We refuse to go out there the next time he opens the door. We force him to come in and get which ever one of us he wants."

"And then, when he comes in here, we can overpower him," Tara said, her eyes lighting up even as a malicious smile played across her lips.

"He'll kill us," Cassie repeated. "He'll kill one of us, he's too strong."

Faith went over to the scared girl, falling to her knees in front of her with a groan. "I know you are afraid, Cassie. I am too and so is Tara. But we have to be strong if we are going to survive this. You want out of here, don't you?" She waited for the girl's nod. "Then we have to save ourselves."

"O-Okay," she said after a long hesitation. "B-but how?"

"I have an idea," Tara answered here, a cruel smile forming upon her normally gentle face.

* * *

Angel was dressed, his gun in its holster and snugged at his side like a familiar friend. He slapped his cuffs in his pocket along with the wallet containing his badge and identification and then he followed Rupert out of his apartment, leaving the paramedics to finish packing up their stuff.

"Damn judges," The captain hissed as he slid into the passenger seat of Angel's car. "You sure you should be driving?"

"No," Angel answered him, slipping the transmission into drive and hitting the gas.

Rupert grabbed the door handle as the tires squealed and then the car jumped forward.

"Wanna put the bubble up for me, Captain?"

He drove as fast as he could, weaving around and through the beginning of rush hour traffic, cursing anyone who didn't get out of his way fast enough and slamming his hand down on his horn as if it were a siren.

"I've got patrol cars en route and I've got the two detectives in the unmarked out front. They said there is no movement whatsoever at the house."

"It was Wilkinson who hit me, Capt. He took Buffy. I don't give a damn whether the morons in the car saw anything or not. I know what I saw." He glanced at the Captain, wincing as his head gave a particularly vicious stab of pain. "He's got Buffy in there somewhere and I plan on getting her out, one way or another."

Giles' phone rang and he answered it, cursing under his breath as Angel came close enough to the car in front of them to barely kiss bumpers before swinging around it. He listened for a moment then snapped his phone closed. "Okay, we got the warrant, though it's not really necessary in this case. But I wanted to cross the t's and dot the I's anyway."

"Good," Angel said, seeing the flashing lights in front of him. "You do that."

* * *

The light flashed on in the basement only seconds after Tara had finished speaking. The door at the top of the stairs opened and the three women watched in horror as Ben came back down, Buffy's unconscious body in his arms.

He sat her gently in the chair, carefully brushing her still wet hair back from her pretty face. She wore nothing but a plain white bath towel around her slender body, and he tugged gently at the top, pulling it apart and lifting her to take it off of her, leaving her naked to his eyes. "So beautiful," he groaned, reaching out his hand to touch her breast, his fingers careful not to bruise her skin. "I love you, Buffy," Ben said, falling to his knees in front of the naked, unconscious girl. "We will be together forever." His lips found her soft pink nipple, pulling it into his mouth and suckling upon it gently, kneading the pale flesh with his fingers. His face wore an expression of sublime ecstasy as he suckled upon her and his other hand went to her thighs, pulling the slack limbs apart and letting his hand rest upon the mound of her sex. "You're mine now," he moaned around the plump treat in his mouth. "Mine and I'll never let you go."

With a growl of pleasure, his fingers speared through her wet flesh and pushed inside of her core, finger fucking her slowly. He ignored the fact that she was limp under his hands, in his mind, she was standing in front of her mirror, her hands roaming over her own body as she sought to give herself pleasure, slipping under that tiny scrap of red silk, fucking herself. But she didn't stop when she saw him in the mirror, watching her. No, she continued, using the other hand to pull aside the tiny triangle, letting him see her fingers covered in her own juices as they pumped furiously into her pussy. She stared into his eyes, letting him see the changing emotions in their soft depths as she brought herself pleasure more fierce because he was watching her. Her legs shook and when she came, it was his name she cried out to the quiet of the room, his body she craved with every fiber of her being.

Buffy moaned, her head throbbing as she fought against the gray blanket that kept her down in the dark of unconsciousness. She didn't feel right, her stomach rolled and she thought she might be ill. But worse was the way she felt between her thighs. She moaned again, forcing her eyes to open a crack and seeing his face, the same face that had been sitting in the restaurant when Maggie had reamed her, the same face that she'd seen at the grocery store, the same face that had stared at her in the mirror.

It was him. It was the killer.

He had her naked in a chair, his hand a blur between her thighs, pummeling into her sex, his nails scraping against her sensitive flesh and hurting her.

"Stop," she moaned, her hands coming out to push him away. "Stop. You're hurting me."

He bit down against the nipple that was in his mouth, hearing her cry of pain before he released it. Licking the offended bud, he smiled at her. "I know you didn't mean it, Buffy. I know you love the way my hands feel on you, that you've been dreaming of this moment the same that I have. If you'd only kept the cops out of the mix, we could have been together so much earlier, baby girl." The hand between her thighs had slowed, its movements now gentle and loving instead of cruel. He pulled them from her sleek opening, rubbing them tenderly against her clit. His other hand came up to her face, burrowing into the wet strands of her hair, holding her face still as he leaned against her. "Kiss me. Show me how sorry you are that you've been blocking us from being together for all this time."

Buffy whimpered softly, wanting to kick him but he was between her legs, wanting to push him away, but his body was hard and seemed immovable, her hands fluttering against his chest as ineffectual as butterfly wings. "Please," she pleaded. "I'm sick."

His eyes narrowed as he stared into hers, almost as if he could weight the truth of her statement. "It's the drug I used on you. I'm sorry, but I had no choice but to use it. I couldn't have you getting in the way while I killed the good detective."

"Y-you ki-killed Angel?"

"You were fucking him," he said as if that gave him every right to rid himself of the competition. "You shouldn't have done that, Buffy. Don't you know how much I love you?"

She thought she would vomit, Images of Angel as she'd last seen him, lying on the floor, a pool of blood gathering around his head, flashed before her eyes. This awful man had killed him. Tears rolled down her cheeks, tears she was unable to stop.

"Do you cry for him?" Ben asked, the rage in his voice making her head come up. He rose from in front of her, his hand coming out to smack against her face, slinging her head to the side. "How dare you cry for another man when you're with me?"

Buffy heard a sharp cry and with her head turned, she could see the plastic prison and the three naked women inside. Despite the fog of the drug and the grief that wanted to weigh her down, she fought to think. "I'm not crying for him," she said slowly, her hand coming to her mouth to wipe away the trail of blood that was wending its way down her chin. "I'm crying because you killed a detective and now we have no chance to be together." She turned her head towards him, her eyes meeting his. In her heart, she was praying he would believe her. It would give her more of a chance to find a way out of here if he did.

"I don't know," he said slowly, stepping back and away from her. "But we don't have time to argue this out now. We're going to have company here soon and I want to be long gone before they get here. So choose, Buffy." He spread out his arm, indicating the big plastic cage.

"Choose?" Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean, choose?"

"Choose which one we'll be taking with us and which other ones I'll kill before we leave," he explained, smiling genially. "I figured to leave the choice up to you. I know Tara there is your friend, but I have to tell you, Buffy, she has been nothing but trouble since I brought her here. She might better be left behind."

Buffy felt a horror unlike anything she'd felt before. She was being made responsible for killing two women. How could she choose? "I-I can't," she said helplessly. "I can't o that. I-I just can't make that choice."

Ben's hand snapped out again, finding her cheek, this time not much more than a tap. "Buffy, I took these three because of you, it's up to you to decide which one lives and which two die." He chuckled, watching the three women huddle together, staring at him. "I kind of liked having my own stable to choose from, but we only need one. You choose and I'll make their deaths swift and easy. A quick twist of the neck and it snaps, they won't feel a thing. I choose, and I'll make their deaths more horrible than you could ever imagine."

Tears swept down her cheeks again, this time for herself and the nightmare she'd woken up to. She opened her mouth, only to close it again, her eyes pleading with him. "Can't you just let them all stay here, let the police have them alive? What more could they tell that the cops don't know? Please," she whimpered, slipping back against the back of the chair as he moved toward her.

He grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet and moving her in front of him. His hands went around her waist and he forced her to look at the three women.

Tara could see the horror in Buffy's eyes as she listened to whatever Ben was whispering in her ear, her face going pale white in the too bright lights of the basement. Buffy's mouth was moving, but no noise was coming out. Tara didn't want to know what was being said. She knew first hand how cruel and vicious he could be. She closed her eyes, praying with all her might that they would have a chance to implement their plan and that it would work.

"Okay!" Buffy shrieked, unable to stand anymore of the words he spoke, words that brought horrible visions of blood and gore to her mind. She trembled uncontrollably in his arms, shock making the whole scene in front of her a surreal episode that couldn't possibly be real. She couldn't be here, her mind kept wanting to tell her. She couldn't be trapped and Angel couldn't be dead. She would wake up soon and be in her own bed at home, this whole thing nothing but a terrible dream.

"Choose, Buffy," Ben hissed into her ear, his hands sliding over her smooth flesh. "Choose now or I'll make every one of those things I told you come true."

"I-I ch-choose..." Buffy began.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen:

"I-I choose Tara," Buffy finally whispered, her voice barely hearable.

"Are you sure, Buffy? She has been nothing but trouble since I picked her up." He told her again. He stepped behind her, forcing her to her feet, his hands moving over her body with a familiarity that made her skin crawl and shrink away from him. "But little Cassie has proven herself to be quite the little cock sucker. I think she might even grow to like it after a while."

Buffy ducked her head down, refusing to look anymore at the three women, especially the two that she'd just condemned to death. She couldn't, guilt and horror were eating at her. As well as the grief she felt, grief for the loss of Angel.

"Oh well, if you insist." Ben pushed her into the chair, forcing her in hard enough to knock the air out of here. He turned and went to his shelves, reaching into a small white box and drawing out a length of red ribbon. With a careful hand, he cut it then held the two ends together, trimming them neatly. He drew out another length, repeating the process before tucking the edges of the ribbons into his front pocket. The ends hung down the front of his beige pants, a striking contrast like lines of blood, marring the material. He settled a few things onto a metal tray, humming as he worked.

Next he walked to the door of the cage, opening it and wiggling his fingers at Cassie. "Come out, come out wherever you are," he chuckled. "It's too bad we just don't have more time, I might have let you prove to Buffy what a wonderful addition you could be to our little love nest. But, I'm expecting company so come on out little Cassandra."

"N-no!"

Ben looked at her in consternation for a moment as if he'd never have expected her to argue with him. "Cassandra, this is not the time for you to prove you have any balls. Get your little ass out here!" he roared, his anger billowing in sheets of rage.

Cassie stood with her back to the very back of the cage, her head shaking even as terror made it impossible for her to speak. Her legs felt like jello, fear making her bowels feel like water as she watched him. His eerie eyes seemed to glow, his face turned red and he stomped his foot.

"If I have to come in there and get you, you will regret it with every scream I wrest from you before I finally kill you," he screamed at the girl, his voice hoarse. "Now get your cunt out here!"

"NO!" she screamed. "NO!"

Tara watched with a disassociated detachment that made her feel as if she were somewhere else, watching this through someone else's eyes. The expression on Ben's face struck her as funny and she let a little giggle slip past her lips.

She couldn't help it, he had a look of such surprise on his face. It was almost as if he actually believed that they would calmly walk out of this plastic prison that had become their haven in these last moments and cheerfully put their heads in his hands so that he might kill them. How foolish could any man be?

"Do you actually believe that any of us are just going to allow you to kill us?" she asked him slowly.

"Shut up, Tara. This doesn't concern you. Buffy has given you a reprieve."

"But for how long? How long before you tire of the two of us and decide to get rid of us? How long before you tire of having broken toys? We hate you. All of us, even your dear Buffy that you profess to love. We hate every rancid breath you suck into your evil lungs."

"Tara..." he began, his tone of voice going beyond warning and into rage.

"No! You're going to listen. You've fucked us, you raped us all in horrible ways. You've tried to break us, and you failed. You FAILED!"

"Tara, be careful," Faith hissed from her post beside the girl. "We want him pissed, not homicidal."

"You are nothing but a pathetic little boy." Tara took a step forward, her eyes glued to Ben's face. "A little boy with a truly pathetic little cock who has to rape women to get it up. You can't do it any other way, can you? You couldn't have a regular relationship with a woman. You can't get it up unless you are threatening and hurting, can you?"

He took one step into the cage, his eyes set upon Tara. His hands clenched into white knuckled fists at his sides.

"You don't scare me. You don't scare me at all. You are nothing, less than nothing." Tara turned her back, refusing to look at the man. He would attack, she knew that. She just had to hope she could provoke him past his control point. She had to give Cassie time to do her part.

With a hideous roar, Ben rushed her, taking the five steps he needed to get his hands on Tara in three. His hands closed around her throat, strangling her, his thick fingers digging into her flesh brutally.

Cassie raced from the cage, almost too panicked to do her part of the plan. She hesitated for a moment, hearing the sounds of the struggles behind her, seeing the way to freedom in the long staircase that was so close. But then she heard Faith cursing, heard Tara gasping for air and couldn't forget them. She rushed to the shelves, her shaking hand scattering the metal tools before grasping a handful of scalpels. Turning, she ran to the cage. Faith was fighting with him, struggling to get his fingers from around Tara;s throat. Tara was almost unconscious, her body limp in the strong man's hands. She struggled feebly, her fingers pulling impotently at the thick fingers dug so cruelly into her throat.

"NO!" Cassie screeched, rushing at his back, her arm raised with the bladed ends of the scalpels pointed out. Not even thinking, only feeling the horror of what he was doing to her friend, she brought her hand down hard, feeling the slight pop the skin made as the scalpel slipped through, sliding deeply into his flesh. Beyond that first pop, the blades went in easily, like slicing through warm butter.

Ben screamed, his eyes growing wide as he realized what was happening. He turned, letting go of Tara, his hands flailing. He knocked Cassie down even as she tried to stab him again, running out of the cage.

Faith went after him, her pale body almost a blur as she raced after the injured man. She was past thinking like a cop; she'd been through things in the last twenty four hours that no cop should ever have to deal with. Now she was thinking like a woman. She was thinking like a woman who'd been brutalized, beaten and raped. She wanted revenge. With a shriek, she leaped at him, grabbing one of the scalpels that had been left in his body and yanking it out. She knocked him to the ground, stabbing him over and over.

Ben fought her, rolling on the floor with her, roaring every time the blade struck home. He could feel himself weakening, feel his life's blood draining away to the floor of his basement retreat. "No," he whispered, finding himself upon his back, Faith on top of him, her hair a mass of mussed snarls, her eyes full of hatred.

"Die you pathetic piece of shit," she hissed, sinking backwards, the scalpel she still held in her cut hand hanging loosely at her side as she watched him suffer. She was breathing heavily, her flesh quivering from the effort it had taken her to stop. "Go to goddamn fucking hell!"

He closed his eyes, pain assaulting him from all the wounds she had inflicted. With one last effort, he rolled, knocking her to the floor, grabbing the loosely held scalpel from her hand and dragging her head back. "You first," he hissed, even as he heard the screams from the other women. His hand shook as he dragged the lethally sharp blade across her throat, opening the skin and severing her jugular before he dropped the blade, crawling away.

Buffy dropped to her knees beside Faith, turning her onto her back, her hands pressing against the wound that was spurting blood into the air. "NO!" she screamed even as her hands grew slippery with the thick fluid that was draining away the life of the woman under her. "You fucking bastard! Why?" Buffy looked at Ben whose own wounds were killing him. "Why did you do this, why kill all these women? Why?"

"B-be-cause I-I l-love you," Ben managed to gurgle, then he was still, his eyes staring at her even as they glazed with death.

Buffy screamed as the door at the top of the stairs burst open, heavily armed and armored men thudding down the stairway. Two hands grasped her arms, pulling her from the puddle of blood that had formed around Faith's body. A blanket was draped around her shoulders, pulled tightly around her and then she found herself in a pair of warm arms.

"It's okay," Angel's voice crooned softly from above her head. "It's over. I got you, baby."

Buffy stared up and into his handsome face with a sense of surrealism. "You're dead. He killed you," she whispered. "He told me he killed you. Am I dead to?" she asked, her bloody hands coming up, the blanket dropping from off of her shoulders.

Angel caught it, wrapping her in it once more. "No, baby, you're not dead and neither am I. He gave me a good bump on the head. But other than that, I'm fine. Did h... did he hurt you?"

"No," she said, emphatically, shaking her head. "He killed your cop."

Angel heard the sound of hysteria in her voice. "It's okay, Buffy. You're fine now. You, Tara and Cassie, you're all fine now." He rocked her in his arms, watching as the paramedics came down.

Tara was taken up first, her throat swollen and bruised from Ben's fingers, her body raw and black and blue from his beatings and rapes. She would live, and grieve for her own lost love. Cassie shied away from everyone that tried to touch her, hanging on to Tara's hand and following her up the stairs. She would ride to the hospital with Tara for the older girl's presence kept her calm.

"I want you going to the hospital, too, Angel. You can ride in with Buffy," Giles said, his eyes stern. "Don't even try to argue, detective. I'll wrap this up and do your paperwork for you this time."

Angel nodded and then helped Buffy towards the stairs.

* * *

The phone seemed to ring nonstop. She'd had to change the number and somehow they still got a hold of it. Buffy finally had to resort to taking it off the hook, unable to handle the constant noise.

She'd been back in her apartment only two days, having spent three in the hospital before Angel was assured she was okay.

She thought to come home to the peace and quiet of her house, only to find the press camped out on her doorstep, their flashbulbs going off like too bright fireflies as she hurried up the front steps and into the shuttered interior of her house. Nina and Eve weren't due home for a couple more days, enjoying their vacations from real life.

She was alone.

Buffy wandered around the rooms, touching things as if being able to feel them would make them more real to her. She still was in that half surreal stage finding it hard to believe that Ben Wilkinson was dead and was no longer a threat to her or any other girl. It seemed like forever since she'd first ran into him that late night, running in to buy chips to satisfy her craving for something salty.

A soft meow broke the silence, a plaintive cry followed by a rusty sounding purr as a big orange body rubbed up against her. She bent over, picking up the huge Tom cat that she'd rescued from being taken in by animal rescue. It might seem weird to some people that she adopted Ben's cat. But it wasn't the cat's fault. He was just a big, loveable orange fur ball that loved to be petted and to eat.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him softly, nuzzling her nose into his fur.

"Yes, I am," a male voice said.

She whirled, dropping the cat with a small scream. "Dammit Angel!" she hissed at the man who stood in her living room. "You scared me."

Angel walked closer, pulling her into his arms. "I missed you," he said, bending his head to find her lips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on to him. He felt so real, so stable, so safe to her. When he lifted his head, she was smiling. "I've never seen you in uniform," she said softly, smoothing her hands over the dark blue coat that was buttoned up the front with brass buttons. He had a slew of medals and badges on his chest. "You look fantastic."

"Thanks. Faith's funeral was today," he said slowly, not wanting to upset her. "She was sent off with all the pomp and glory of a hero, baby."

"I wish I had known, I would have gone."

"The press were all over it, Buffy. They'd have mugged you before you'd gotten anywhere close to the cemetery." He pulled the clip out of her hair, running his hands through the silky strands.

She sighed and then moved from his arms, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the couch. Curling up against him, she traced abstract patterns over the material that covered his thigh. "So what happens next? There won't be a trial or anything. With him dead, it just ends, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, kind of anticlimactic isn't it?"

"After all the people he killed, yeah, it's very anticlimactic. There should be a way to bring his soul back from hell and ... I don't know, hurt him somehow. But nope, he's dead and the city is safe once more and you get stuck with a desk full of paperwork." She tried to smile but it was hard.

Angel held her gently, stroking her hair. He hadn't tried to make love to her or to do much more than the gentle kiss he'd given her earlier. She seemed ... brittle, as if she might break if he put to much pressure on her. He missed having her beside him, knowing she was right there in the middle of the night, being able to make love to her. But that was okay. They had time now, time to get to know each other, time for her to see how much he loved her, time...

"My parents want me to move back home, Angel," she said softly. "They don't like me being alone and so far away. I guess this thing scared them too."

"What? What did you tell them?" he said, all his thoughts of time seeming to pop like a balloon on a pin. He waited anxiously for her reply.

"Well," she said, biting her lip to hide the smile that wanted to spread over her face at the sound of worry in his voice. "I told them that I really wasn't alone. I mean, I do have Eve and Nina and all."

"Your roommates? Well, yeah, I guess so." He shifted, his eyes narrowing.

"But they weren't convinced about that at all. Daddy even said he was going to come up here and get me if I didn't decide to move back myself." She felt him take his arm from around her, crossing it over his chest. His eyes grew even more narrow, reminding her of a cat studying its prey.

"Fuck it!" It just burst from him, those two words, like a ball from a cannon. "And fuck that. You aren't alone,Buffy. You have me. I may have fucked up and let that creep get his hands on you, but ... that won't ever happen again. I love you, Buffy. I want you to move in with me."

Buffy rose to her knees on the couch, her leg slinging across his lap until she straddled him. "What did you say?" she asked breathlessly.

"I said I want you to move in with me," he said, looking a little nervous.

"No, no, before that."

"I fucked up?" he asked slowly.

"Dammit, you know what I want to hear," she growled at him, grabbing the lapels of his coat.

"I love you, Buffy Summers. I think I've loved you since I saw you in that restaurant making silly faces at a two year old to make him laugh. I can't stand the thought of you living across the city from me much less across the country." He took a deep breath, his hands coming up to frame her face. "I love you so much I was willing to give us time, time to heal and to forget Benjamin Wilkinson and the things he did to you. But I can't let you leave me." He kissed her lightly, surprised when she took the kiss deeper, licking at his lips with her wicked little tongue until he sucked it into his mouth.

When the kiss ended, they were both breathing hard. Buffy brushed her lips over his again and again, unable to break the contact, feeling for the first time since waking in that horrible chair as if she were really alive. Her body seemed to tingle, to vibrate against his, emotions and sensations swarming through her but the most important of all ... was love.

Angel grabbed her arms, more than willing to let his pretty girlfriend seduce him out of his uniform, but first he wanted to hear her say it. He needed to hear her say how she felt also. "Well?" he asked, his voice a raspy growl.

"Well ... what?" she chuckled, knowing what he wanted to hear her say. But she wanted him to work for it.

"Buffy..." he warned, his voice not in the least amused. "I've been walking on egg shells for five days just to walk in here to hear that you father wants you to move home where I'll never see you again. You'd better have something to say to me."

"I'm not going anywhere, well I am, but it's not as far as my daddy would like. If you meant it, Angel, I want to go home with you. I love you."

His smile was brilliant, taking her breath away. He kissed her slowly, lifting his head finally to stare down at her swollen lips and passion closed eyes. "Did you want to leave right away?" he whispered.

She laughed huskily. "Hmm, I think it could probably wait a few hours," she sighed, reaching down to unbutton the big brass buttons that kept his coat closed.

He rose, lifting her easily and tossing her over his shoulder then walked to her room with her squirming and laughing.

Dropping her on the bed so that she bounced, he slowly stripped out of his coat, laying it neatly across the chair that sat in the corner. The tie came next and then his shirt, pulled slowly from his uniform pants. He stood in front of her, his chest bare.

"Don't stop there," she ordered, scooting further back on the bed so she could lie down comfortably. "You were doing so well."

Angel chuckled, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks. His hands went to the buttons on his pants, enjoying the look of anticipation in her eyes. Slowly he pulled them open, taking both the pants and his boxers down together and stepping out of them, naked.

"Nice," she breathed, her eyes gazing at the hard length of his cock. "Very, very nice."

"Glad you approve," he said, climbing on the bed and heading toward her, a very big, very naked predator, stalking his mate. Buffy tried to dash away, wanting to tease him a little more but he grabbed her ankle, pulling her down the bed until she was under him. He wrapped her leg around his lean waist, leaning down to kiss her, his lips as demanding as his body. There was a desperation inside of him, an urgency to claim her once more as his own, to erase the images he had in his mind of Wilkinson and the things he'd done to her.

With a growl, he lifted his head, long enough to pull her top over hers. His hands went to her back, easily flipping open the hooks that held her bra, sliding it down her arms and off before pressing his chest against her. His growl of pleasure was barely heard over her gasp as emotions and sensations merged. He felt so damn good against her, so right. It was almost as if she'd been born his other half, not feeling whole unless they were together.

"You feel it too, don't you," he growled in her ear, demanding a response as his hands roamed over her body, pulling at the snap on her jeans and yanking down the zipper. "It's like a connection, isn't it?" His hand slipped inside her jeans, finding the thin silk of her panties and pushing under those. He wiggled his way between her spread thighs, finding her wet slit with ease and sinking his fingers into lush, sleek flesh.

Buffy wriggled under him, anxious to feel him inside of her. "God, yes, baby," she moaned. "Don't stop."

His lips found her breast, sliding over skin that felt as soft and smooth as down, finding the hard tip with his tongue and teasing it. She shifted under him, her hands going to her jeans, yanking on them, trying to pull them off without dislodging him.

"In a hurry?" he murmured around her nipple, his teeth nipping at the tender tip.

"Please Angel," she whimpered. "I want more."

He suckled her hard, his finger twirling around her clit, playing with that little button while her cries grew louder, loving the way she felt, the heat of her juices as they coated his fingers, the scent of her arousal, so musky and vibrant in the air around them. His cock felt like steel, so hard, so full and throbbing with his own need to be inside of her, he couldn't wait much longer.

"Come on my hand," he ordered her, yanking down her jeans enough to give him more room to move. "I want to feel your come on my hand, baby."

Her hands were in his hair, drawing him back to her breasts, her head was tipped back and into the pillows as her hips danced under him, fucking his hand desperately. Then she was there, riding on a cloud of heat, flying toward the sun as pleasure spun her around into a swirling vortex.

Before she could recover, he'd pulled off her jeans and panties, pushing her thighs open and thrusting inside of her. Her sex seemed to suck him in, the sleek walls convulsing around him, caressing his cock with every tiny quiver. "Fuck, baby," he groaned as she captured him, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his big body. "You're so damn tight."

"Fuck me," she whispered, her eyes still starry. "Make me come again," she begged. Her nails scoured lightly down his back, digging into his hips, urging him on to a faster rhythm.

He rolled, putting her on top of him, never once breaking contact with the soft flesh of her sex. "Ride me. You fuck me this time," he hissed. His hands were on her hips, sliding up to her breasts, cupping the firm mounds as she began to move on him. Her head fell back, her long hair sliding around her body, emphasizing the silkiness of her skin, the pale glory of her body.

He toyed with her nipples, rolling them between his fingers, squeezing them gently and then more firmly. She was so beautiful like this, her eyes half closed, emerald sin, her mouth parted, their lushness wet from her tongue. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her body lithe and rounded, rising and falling over him with a determination that had him clenching on to his restraint with everything he had.

He wanted to wait, wanted to feel her come again, wanted to come with her.

She bent down to kiss him, finding his hands with her own, entwining their fingers together. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth, feeling that familiar tightening that signaled her release. "I'm going to come again, baby," she managed to hiss.

Angel let loose his restraint, groaning in relief. With four hard thrusts up into her he was coming, feeling her body clamp down around him as she joined him riding with him into bliss. When it was done, he held her close, her hair falling across his face, their hearts beating hard against each others. He sighed, smiling as she snuggled even closer. "You'll move in with me?" he asked her quietly.

"Yes," Buffy said, smiling against his chest. "On one condition."

His hands reached for her, lifting her to face him. "Condition?" he asked confused.

"Yeah, it's just a little thing, Angel. I mean, a man who can face down killers everyday for a living shouldn't have any problems with this one."

"What is it?" he asked finally, staring up at her distrustfully. "Who do you want me to kill?"

"It's nothing like that. You just have to meet my mother and my father." Buffy stared down at him for a minute when he didn't say anything, her smile quickly turning puzzled. "Angel?"

"I'd rather face serial killers," he said, dead panned.

"Wha..." she began only to stop as a smile spread slowly across his face. "Oh, you..." She went after him, her fingers merciless as she found every spot she knew to tickle him. He squirmed, grabbing for her wrists and throwing her back on the bed, his body following her down, capturing her hands above her head as he nuzzled her neck. Then his mouth found hers and every thought of fathers or revenge disappeared in her happiness at being with him.

* * *

Outside, a solitary figure dressed in dark gray sweats, the hood pulled up and hiding all features, finished a final act before turning away from the window and walking slowly away.

A single red ribbon, tied into a dainty bow, blew in the wind, a solitary witness to an act of love too intense for the figure to watch.

A single word floated back, the voice too distorted to be recognizable as male or female. A single word that spoke volumes. A single word...

"Soon."

* * *

Author's Note: This is the final chapter and the end of my Ribbons story. Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


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